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RIDGWELL  CULLUM 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

Microsoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/forfeitfOOcullrich 


THE    FORFEIT 


BY    THE    SAME   AUTHOR 

The  Son  of  His  Father 

The  Men  Who  Wrought 

The  Golden  Woman 

The  Law-Breakers 

The  Way  of  the  Strong 

The  Twins  of  Suffering  Creek 

The  Night-Riders 

The  One-Way  Trail 

The  Trail  of  the  Axe 

The  Sheriff  of  Dyke  Hole 

The  Watchers  of  the  Plains 

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THE  FORFEIT 


By 
RTDGWELL  CULLUM 

Author  of  "The  Night 'Riders;1  "The 
Way  of  the  Strong"  etc. 


PHILADELPHIA 

GEORGE  W.  JACOBS  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  191 7,  by 
George  W.  Jacobs  &  Company 


. 


All  rights  reserved 
Printed  in  U.  S.  A. 


CONTENTS 

I.  At  Rainbow  Hill  Valley      ....  9 

II.  Conflicting  Currents 23 

III.  Trailing  the  "  Black  Tail"          ...  40 

IV.  The  Weaker  Vessel 51 

V.  The  Hanging  Bee 66 

VI.  The  Raiders  Raided 79 

VII.  Outland  Justice 89 

VIII.  Jeff  Closes  the  Book 107 

IX.  Four  Years  Later 121 

X.  The  Polo  Club  Races 1 36 

XI.  Elvine  Van  Blooren 150 

XII.  The  Tempering 165 

XIII.  The  News 178 

XIV.  The  Knocking  on  the  Door  .        .        .        .193 
XV.  The  Home-Coming 207 

XVI.  The  Ranchman 222 

XVII.  The  Call  to  Orrville 234 

XVIII.  Dug  McFarlane 248 

XIX.  The  Return  Home 265 

XX.  At  Bud's .276 

XXI.  The  Barrier 288 

XXII.  Threatenings 303 

M3S525 


CONTENTS 


XXIII. 

XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 


The  Hearts  of  Two  Women         .        .        .319 

To  Spruce  Crossing 327 

An  Epic  Battle 333 

Under  the  Veil 346 


The  Round-Up 


357 


THE  FORFEIT 

•  *  • «.  > 

CHAPTER  I 
AT  RAINBOW  HILL  VALLEY 

A  COMPANIONABLE  silence  prevailed  in  the  room.  At 
intervals  it  was  broken,  but  only  by  the  rustle  of  paper 
or  the  striking  of  a  match.  The  heavy  breathing,  almost 
amounting  to  a  snore,  of  one  of  the  two  men,  and  the  in- 
articulate protests  of  a  laboring  "  rocker  "  chair — these 
things  were  only  a  part  of  it. 

The  man  at  the  table  was  deeply  immersed  in  a  minia- 
ture sea  of  calculations.  His  fair  brows  were  drawn  in 
deep  concentration.  Frequently  he  was  at  great  pains  to 
relight  a  pipe  which  contained  nothing  but  charred 
remnants  of  tobacco  and  a  moist,  unsmokable  mixture 
which  afforded  only  a  somewhat  offensive  taste  and 
aroma. 

The  partner  in  this  companionship  overflowed  an  un- 
dersized "rocker,"  which  withstood,  with  supreme  hero- 
ism, the  overwhelming  forces  of  its  invader.  But  its  suf- 
ferings, under  the  rhythmic  rise  and  fall  imposed  upon  it, 
found  expression  at  intervals,  although  they  failed  to  in- 
spire the  least  sympathy.  The  heedless  giant's  whole  at- 
tention seemed  to  be  absorbed  in  the  personality  and 
effort  of  his  friend. 

Finally  the  latter  raised  a  pair  of  deep  blue  eyes.     Fol- 


io  THE  FORFEIT 

lowing  upon  a  sigh,  he  thrust  his  papers  aside  with  a 
brusque  movement  of  relief.  Then  he  raised  a  hand  to 
his  broad  forehead  and  smoothed  his  disheveled  fair 
hair,  which  seemed  to  have  undergone  some  upheaval 
as  a  result  of  the  mental  disturbance  his  efforts  had 
inspired  in  the  brain  beneath.  The  handsome  eyes 
smiled  a  reassuring  smile  into  the  rugged  face  of  his 
frier;  d. 

"  Well  ? "  he  enquired,  without  seeming  to  desire  a 
reply. 

"Wal?"  echoed  the  gruff  voice  of  the  man  in  the 
rocker. 

11  It's  done." 

"  So — I  guessed." 

The  patient  amusement  in  the  twinkling  eyes  of  the 
man  in  the  rocker  was  good  to  see.  There  was  confi- 
dence, too,  in  his  regard  of  the  younger  man. 

"  Can  we  do  it — sure  ?  "  he  enquired,  as  the  other  re- 
mained silent. 

"  Without  a  worry." 

"Then  dope  it  out,  boy.  The  easiest  thing  in  the 
world  is  handin'  out  dollars  on  a  right  enterprise.  I 
don't  know  nothin'  better — except  it  is  takin'  'em  in  on 
the  same  sort  o'  play." 

Jeffrey  Masters  smiled  more  broadly  into  his  friend's 
good-humored  face. 

"  Five  years  back,  handing  out  twenty  thousand  dollars 
would  have  given  us  a  nightmare,  even  on  a  right  prop- 
osition," he  said.  "  It  isn't  that  way  now.  Guess  we'll 
sleep  on  this  thing  like  new-born  babes  with  our  tanks 
filled  right.  Nat  Williams  is  out  to  sell  quick,  and  if 
we're  bright,  it's  up  to  us  to  buy  quick.     For  twenty 


AT  RAINBOW  HILL  VALLEY  n 

thousand  dollars,"  he  proceeded,  referring  to  his  figures, 
"  we  get  his  house,  barns,  corrals,  and  all  his  rolling 
stock.  His  growing  crops  and  machinery.  The  bunch 
of  old  cows  and  calves  he's  pleased  to  call  his  '  herds.' 
Also  three  teams  of  Shire-bred  heavy  draft  horses,  and 
six  hundred  and  forty  acres  of  first-class  wheat  land  and 
grazing  that  only  needs  capital  and  hustle  to  set  right  on 
top.  I  don't  guess  it'll  worry  us  any  to  hand  it  all  it 
needs  that  way.  This  buy  will  join  up  my  '  O '  terri- 
tory with  your  '  T.T.'  grazing,  and  will  turn  the  combina- 
tion into  one  of  the  finest  ranching  propositions  west  of 
Calthorpe,  and  one  which  even  Montana  needs  to  be 
proud  of." 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair  with  a  certain  air  of  satis- 
faction. But  there  was  just  a  shade  of  anxiety,  too,  in 
the  glance  with  which  he  favored  his  friend.  However, 
he  need  have  felt  no  misgivings.  Bud  Tristram  had 
none.  He  understood  the  keen  business  brain  under- 
lying his  friend's  tumbled  fair  hair.  Moreover,  Jeff,  who 
was  only  half  the  older  man's  age,  was  regarded  with 
something  like  parental  affection. 

They  had  fought  their  way  up  together  from  obscure 
beginnings  to  their  present  affluence,  as  the  owners  of 

the  "  T.T."  ranch  and  the  "  O "  ranch  respectively. 

They  had  been  partners  in  all  but  name.  Now  they  con- 
templated a  definite  deed  of  that  nature.  It  was  a  con- 
summation which  the  older  man  had  looked  forward  to 
ever  since  he  first  lent  a  hand  to  his  new  and  youthful 
neighbor.  It  was  a  consummation  which  Jeffrey,  with 
acute  foresight  and  honest  purpose,  had  set  himself  to 
achieve.  If  the  older  man  regarded  him  with  almost 
parental  affection,   that  regard   was   fully  reciprocated. 


12  THE  FORFEIT 

The  business  conference  between  them  had  for  its  pur- 
pose their  mutual  advantage,  and  both  men  were  per- 
fectly aware  of  the  fact. 

But  the  thought  that  slightly  worried  the  younger  man 
was  the  ease,  the  unconcern  of  his  future  partner's  atti- 
tude. It  disquieted  him  because  it  increased  his  responsi- 
bility. But  long  ago  he  had  learned  the  generous  nature 
of  the  Great  Bud.  Long  ago  he  had  realized  his  trusting 
simplicity.  Now  he  would  have  preferred  a  keen  cross- 
examination  of  his  statement.  But  none  was  forthcoming, 
and  he  was  forced  to  continue  in  face  of  the  silent  accept- 
ance. 

"  Bud,  old  friend,  I  wish  I  could  get  you  interested  in 
— figures.  And  I  guess  they  surely  are  interesting,  when 
you  apply  them  to  our  own  concerns." 

But  Bud  remained  unmoved.  He  stretched  himself  in 
an  ecstasy  of  ease,  raising  his  great  arms  above  his 
grizzled  head  in  profound  enjoyment  of  his  bodily  com- 
fort. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Guess  I  know  a  steer.  Guess  I  know  grass  when  I 
see  it.  I  wouldn't  say  there's  a  brand  in  Montana  I  ain't 
familiar  with.  But  riggers — sums — they're  hell.  An'  I 
don't  guess  I'm  yearning  for  hell  anyway.  Figgers  is  a 
sort  o'  paradise  to  you.  You're  built  that  way.  Say,  I 
don't  calc'late  to  rob  you  of  a  thing — not  even  paradise. 
We'll  take  your  figgers  as  they  stand." 

Jeffrey  Masters  shook  his  head. 

"  They're  right,  sure.  But  it's  no  sort  of  way  to  talk 
business." 

"  Business  talk  always  makes  me  sweat." 

It  was  quite  impossible.     Jeffrey  was  growing  impatient 


AT  RAINBOW  HILL  VALLEY  13 

A  frown  settled  upon  his  broad  brow,  and  the  man  in  the 
rocker  watched  it  with  amused  eyes. 

Quite  suddenly  the  younger  man's  impatience  broke 
forth  into  verbal  protest. 

"  Say,  you  make  me  mad.  Was  there  ever  such  a 
feller  looking  for  sharps  to  play  him  ?  How  do  you  know 
I'm  not  out  to  beat  you?  Why,  I  could  roll  you  for  every 
dollar  you  possess  without  lying  awake  five  minutes  at 
night.  It's  not  fair,  Bud.  It's  not  fair  to  me — to  you — 
to  your  little  Nan " 

"  What's  not  fair  to  Nan  ?  " 

Bud's  twinkling  eyes  shot  round  upon  the  open  French 
window  with  an  alertness  scarcely  to  be  expected  in  a  man 
of  such  apparent  mental  indolence.  Jeffrey's  eyes  cleared 
of  their  hot  impatience  as  they  sought  a  similar  direction. 
The  gaze  of  both  men  encountered  the  picture  of  a  brown- 
eyed,  brown-haired  girl  of  exquisite  proportions,  standing 
framed  in  the  open  window.  She  was  clad  in  a  riding 
suit  of  light  material,  with  a  long-skirted  coat  which 
obviously  concealed  the  divided  skirt  beneath.  Her 
long,  brown  top  boots  were  white  with  dust  of  the  trail, 
and  her  vicious-looking  Mexican  spurs  hung  loosely  upon 
her  heels.  Her  eyes  were  bright  with  intelligence  and 
good  humor,  and  her  pretty  oval  face  smiled  out  from 
under  the  wide  brim  of  an  ample  prairie  hat. 

Jeff  began  to  laugh. 

"  It's  your  crazy  old  father,  Nan,"  he  cried.  "  Say, 
just  look  at  him.  Feast  your  eyes  on  him.  Can  you 
beat  it?  Here  we  are  right  up  to  our  necks  in  an 
epoch-making  business  proposition  and  he  don't  concern 
himself  two  whoops.  Was  there  ever  such  a  bunch 
of  simple  trusting  folly  as  is  rolled  up  in  that  six  feet 


14  THE  FORFEIT 

three  of  good-hearted  honesty?  That's  what's  not  fair 
to— Nan." 

The  girl  came  and  laid  a  protecting  hand  upon  the 
flannel-clad  shoulders  of  her  father.  Just  for  a  moment 
her  laughing  eyes  gazed  affectionately  down  upon  the  re- 
cumbent form  of  the  only  parent  she  possessed,  and  whom 
she  idolized.  He  was  stretched  out  luxuriously,  his  great 
be-chapped  legs  reaching  to  the  table  leg  as  a  support  to 
hold  the  rocker  at  a  comfortable  poise.  His  shirt  sleeves 
were  rolled  up  displaying  a  pair  of  arms  like  legs  of  mut- 
ton. The  beadwork  wristlets  were  held  fixed  in  their  po- 
sition by  the  distended  muscles  beneath  them.  She  was 
proud  of  him,  this  father  who  went  through  the  world 
trusting  human  nature,  and  handling  cattle  as  only  an 
artist  in  his  profession  can  handle  them. 

Then  her  dancing  eyes  sought  the  face  of  Jeffrey  Mas- 
ters. Her  smile  remained,  but  a  subtle  something  crept 
into  their  depths  as  she  surveyed  it.  It  was  the  handsome, 
clean-cut  face  of  a  purposeful  man.  There  was  a  straight- 
forward directness  in  the  gaze  of  his  blue  eyes.  It  was 
the  face  of  a  man  who  has  no  fear,  physical  or  moral.  It 
was  almost  too  uncompromising  in  its  fearlessness. 

Nan  knew  its  every  line  by  heart.  She  had  thought  of 
it,  dreamed  of  it,  since  the  time  when  she  had  first  realized 
that  a  woman's  life  is  wholly  incomplete  without  the  care 
of  a  man  upon  her  hands.  Sometimes  she  had  felt  that 
Jeffrey  Masters  possessed  depths  which  could  never  be 
fathomed.  Depths  of  strength,  of  resource,  and  all  those 
qualities  which  make  for  success.  Sometimes  she  even 
went  further,  when  her  analytical  faculties — which  she 
possessed  in  an  unusual  degree — were  most  active.  She 
felt  that  the  possession  of  all  these  firm  qualities  had  rather 


AT  RAINBOW  HILL  VALLEY  15 

smothered,  to  an  extent,  the  gentler  emotions  of  the  hu- 
man nature  in  him.  He  was  strong,  passionate,  with  a 
conscience  of  an  almost  puritanical  order,  and  somehow 
she  felt  that  a  little  softening,  a  little  leavening  of  human 
weakness  would  have  been  all  to  the  good.  But  this  un- 
derstanding made  no  difference  to  her  woman's  regard, 
unless  it  were  to  strengthen  it  to  a  sort  of  gentle  worship 
such  as  woman  is  always  ready  to  yield  to  strength.  It 
required  no  effort  upon  her  part  to  picture  this  man  in  the 
heroic  mould  of  a  Spartan  warrior. 

"'That!"  she  replied,  with  a  whimsical  smile,  "is  a 
man,  who  most  generally  seems  to  fancy  his  own  way  of 
doing  things."  Then  she  shook  her  head  as  her  arm 
slipped  protectingly  around  the  big  man's  bronzed  neck. 
"  I  don't  guess  a  woman's  argument  ever  made  a  man 
see  things  diffrent  yet.     What's  he  done,  Jeff?" 

Jeff  laughed  without  humor. 

"  Done  ? "  he  exclaimed.  Then,  with  a  shake  of  the 
head :  "  It's  not  what  he's  done.  Guess  it's  what  he 
hasn't  done,  and  what  he  don't  seem  to  figure  to  do.  I'd 
kind  of  raised  a  hope  when  I  saw  you  in  the  window. 
But — well,  it  was  only  her  father's  daughter  that  came  in, 
I  guess." 

Then  he  drew  his  papers  toward  him  again,  and  glanced 
seriously  at  the  figures. 

"  It's  Nat's  farm,"  he  explained.  "  And  it's  the  thing 
we've  been  waiting  on  years.  We're  getting  it  fixed 
right,  and  your  Bud's  just  about  as  much  help  as  a  deaf 
mute  at  a  talking  bee.  I  hand  him  figgers,  and — and  he 
smiles,  just  smiles.  I  hand  him  facts,  and — he  keeps  on 
smiling.  It's  the  kind  of  smile  you  most  generally  see  on 
a  dog-tired  feller's  face,  when  you  hand  him  a  funny  story. 


16  THE  FORFEIT 

He  don't  care  a  cuss  anyway.  He's  figuring  to  hand  Nat 
ten  thousand  dollars  with  no  more  kick  than  a  government 
spending  public  money.  He  don't  kick  reasonably  or 
unreasonably,  and  I'd  gamble  you  a  new  hat  he  hasn't  a 
notion  what  he's  getting  for  it.  It  makes  me  feel  like  a 
i  hold-up,'  and  I  say  it's  not  fair  to  me — nor  to  himself — 
nor  to — you." 

Jeff  was  serious  enough.  In  such  affairs  it  would  have 
been  difficult  to  find  him  otherwise.  Nan  understood. 
These  two  men  had  long  been  her  profound  study.  Her 
smiling  regard  remained  unchanging  while  the  man  was 
talking.  When  he  ceased  she  bent  over  her  father  in  a 
caressing  fashion. 

"  He'd  lose  his  bet.  He  surely  would,  daddy  dear, 
wouldn't  he  ?  But  we  really  need  to  answer,  don't  we  ? 
He'd  think  we  were  both  fools,  else.  He  wouldn't  like  it 
either.     Say,  daddy,  shall — shall  I  talk  ?  " 

Bud  chuckled  comfortably. 

"  I'd  hate  to  stop  you,  Nan." 

Nan  smiled  contentedly,  and  raised  a  pair  of  challeng- 
ing eyes  in  the  direction  of  the  table. 

"  My  daddy  thinks  I  talk  too  much,"  she  said.  "  But  I 
s'pose  that's  my  way — most  girls  talk  when  they  get  the 
chance — just  the  same  as  it's  his  way  talking  too  little. 
But  neither  ways  suggest  a  fool,  Jeff.  And  anyway  the 
only  sort  of  fool  you  need  to  worry  with  is  the  fool  who 
don't  see  and  act  in  a  way  of  his  own.  My  daddy's  acting 
in  his  own  way,  and  I  guess  it  isn't  his  way,  working  over- 
time with  the  band  playing.  If  you're  dead  fixed  on  hav- 
ing a  gamble,  it's  a  new  hat  to  a  new  and  less  smelly  pipe 
than  you're  smoking  now,  that  he  knows  the  inside  of  this 
deal  to  the  last  cent's  worth.     But  what's  more,  Jeff,  he 


AT  RAINBOW  HILL  VALLEY  17 

knows  you,  and  knows  you  couldn't  *  hold-up '  a  Sunday- 
school  kiddie  without  going  and  telling  its  teacher  first. 
And  now  the  mail.,, 

She  left  her  father's  side  and  moved  to  the  table,  a  very 
picture  of  gentle  decision  and  practice. 

"  Three  for  you,  my  daddy,"  she  cried,  dropping  three  let- 
ters on  his  chest,  where  his  shirt  gaped  just  below  his  neck. 
Then  she  turned  about.  "  Only  one  for  you,  honest  Jeff. 
Just  one,  and  I've  guessed  at  the  writing  till  I'm  sick." 

Jeff  was  smiling  up  with  frank  amusement. 

"Say,  that's  great.  It's  got  you  beat.  Well,"  he 
added,  as  he  picked  up  the  letter,  "I'll  just  keep  you 
right  on  guessing.     Where's  yours  ?  " 

The  girl  laughed  merrily. 

"  Had  mine.  I  don't  guess  any  right-acting  girl  would 
sit  easy  in  the  saddle  twelve  miles  without  reading  her 

mail.     Say "  she  paused.     The  smile  had  died  out 

of  her  eyes.  Jeff's  expression  had  abruptly  changed.  He 
was  regarding  the  address  on  his  envelope  with  startled 
seriousness.  Then  she  went  on  quickly  :  "  Guess  I'll  wait 
till  you're  both  through.  I'll  get  right  out  an'  off-saddle. 
Then  for  supper." 

In  the  parlor  the  silence  remained  unbroken.  It  be- 
came unduly  prolonged.  Bud  finished  his  mail.  Jeff  was 
still  reading  his.  It  was  not  a  long  letter.  He  had  al- 
ready read  it  twice  through.  Now  he  again  turned  back 
to  its  beginning. 

Bud  observed  him  closely.  He  saw  the  knitted  brows. 
The  curious  set  of  the  man's  lips.  His  absorbed  interest. 
Nor  did  he  interrupt.  He  contented  himself  with  that 
patient  waiting  which  betrayed  much  of  the  solid  strength 
of  his  character. 


1 8  THE  FORFEIT 

Presently  Jeff  looked  up.  But  his  eyes  did  not  seek  his 
friend.  They  were  turned  upon  the  open  window,  his 
gaze  wandering  out  toward  the  distant  hills,  which  marked 
the  confines  of  Rainbow  Hill  Valley. 

Still  the  other  refrained  from  speech.  Finally  it  was 
Jeff,  himself,  who  broke  the  silence. 

"  Bud,"  he  began,  without  withdrawing  his  gaze  from 
the  scene  beyond  the  window,  "  it's  a  letter  from  Ronald. 
It's  the  second  word  I've  had  of  him  in — five  years." 

Bud  nodded. 

"  The  twin." 

Jeff's  gaze  came  slowly,  thoughtfully  back  to  Bud's  face. 

"  Sure.     We're  twins." 

An  unusual  softness  crept  into  the  eyes  of  the  man  at 
the  table. 

"  I'm  kind  of  wondering,  Bud,"  he  went  on  presently, 
"  wondering  if  you  get  all  that  means — means  to  me.  I 
don't  know."  He  passed  a  hand  slowly  across  his  brow, 
as  though  to  brush  aside  growing  perplexities.  "  I  don't 
seem  to  get  all  it  means  myself.  No,  I  don't.  The 
whole  thing's  so  queer,"  he  went  on,  with  a  nervous, 
restless  movement  in  his  chair.  "  It  sort  of  seems  crazy, 
too."  He  laughed  meaninglessly.  Then  he  suddenly 
leaned  forward  with  flushed  cheeks  and  hot  eyes.  "  Bud, 
don't  think  me  crazy,  but — well,  say,  I'm  only  part  of 
me  without  Ronny  near.  Oh,  I  don't  guess  that  ex- 
plains. But  it's  what  I  feel — and  I  can't  just  talk  it 
right.  You  don't  get  it?  No,  of  course  you  don't.  I 
can  see  it  in  your  eyes.  You  think  I'm  right  for  the 
foolish-house.  Listen.  Is  it  possible — is  it  ordinary 
reason  that  when  twins  are  born,  the  nature  of  one 
normal  child  can  be  divided  between  the  two,  one  having 


AT  RAINBOW  HILL  VALLEY  19 

what  the  other  feller  lacks?  There,  that's  how  I  feel 
about  it.  It's  the  way  it  is  with  Ronny  and  me.  All 
that  he  is  not,  I  am.  I  haven't  one  of  his  better  features. 
Say,  Bud,  I'm  a  pretty  cold  sort  of  man.  I'd  have  made 
a  fair  sort  of  Puritan  if  I'd  been  on  earth  a  century  or  so 
ago.  I've  little  enough  humor.  I  don't  care  for  play. 
I  don't  care  for  half  the  fun  most  folks  see  in  life.  I'd 
sooner  work  than  eat.  And  Ronny — well,  Ronny  isn't 
just  any  of  those  things.  He's  just  a  boy,  full  of  every 
sort  of  human  notion  that's  opposite  to  mine.  And  I'm 
crazy  for  him.  Say,  Bud,  I  love  him  better  than  any- 
thing in  life.  If  anything  happened  to  that  boy,  why,  I 
guess  all  that's  worth  while  in  me  would  die  plumb  out." 

He  paused.  Bud's  shrewd  eyes  remained  studying  the 
emotion-lit  features  of  this  usually  unemotional  man. 
He  felt  he  was  being  admitted  to  a  peep  at  a  soul  that 
was  rarely,  if  ever,  bared,  and  he  wondered  at  the  reason. 
Was  it  a  calculated  display,  or  was  it  the  outlet  for  an 
emotion  altogether  too  strong  for  the  man's  restraint? 
He  inclined  to  the  former  belief. 

"  Nothin'  has  happened  ? "  he  enquired  presently,  in 
his  direct  fashion. 

Jeff  laughed  without  any  visible  sign  of  lightness. 

"  No,"  he  said.  Then  with  a  deep  sigh.  "  Thank  God 
nothing  has  happened.     But " 

"  Then  the  trouble ?  " 

"  The  trouble  ?  Say,  Bud,  try  to  get  it  all  as  I  see  it. 
It's  difficult.  The  boy's  away  up  trapping  and  shooting 
— for  a  living — somewhere  in  the  Cathills.  He's  away 
there  living  on  hard  pan,  while  I'm  here  steadily  traip- 
sing on  with  you  to  a  big  pile.  Remember  he's  my  other 
— half.     Do    you    know   how   I    feel?    No,   you  can't. 


20  THE  FORFEIT 

Say,  he's  as  merry  as  I  am — dour.  He's  as  fond  of  life, 
and  play,  and  the  good  things  of  the  world  as  I'm  in- 
different to  'em.  He's  reckless — he's  weak."  Suddenly 
Jeff's  eyes  lit.  A  great  passion  seemed  to  surge  through 
his  whole  body.  "  Bud,  I  want  him  here.  I  want  to  be 
always  around  to  help  him  when  he  gets  bumping  into 
potholes.  It's  that  weakness  that  sets  me  crazy  when  I 
think.  He  ain't  made  for  the  dreary  grind  of  the  life  we 
live.  That's  why  he  cut  it  out  when  I  came  here.  Well, 
there's  no  grind  for  him  now,  and  I  want  to  have  him 
come  along  and  share  in  with  me.  That's  why  I'm  talk- 
ing now.  From  this  moment  on  we're  a  great  proposi- 
tion in  the  ranching  world,  and  1  want  Ronny  to  share 
in  with  me.  " 

Bud  nodded. 

"  I  get  it,"  he  said.  Then  he  added :  "  You're  a  great 
feller." 

"Great!  Cut  it  out,  Bud,"  Jeff  cried  sharply.  "It's 
my  love  for  that  other  half  of  me  that's  talking.  That 
merry  bit  of  a — twin." 

"  An'  you're  sendin'  for  him  ?  " 

Jeff  shrugged,  and  depression  seemed  suddenly  to 
descend  upon  him. 

"If  I  could  fix  it  that  way  I  don't  guess  I'd  have 
opened  my  face  to  hand  you  all  this.  But  I  can't.  He's 
in  the  Cathills,  away  a  hundred  and  more  miles  north- 
west of  us.  That's  all  he  says.  He  don't  give  a  mail 
address.  No,  Bud,  I'm  going  to  hunt  him  out.  I'm 
going  to  find  him,  and  bring  him  back.  I'll  find  him 
sure.  We're  just  one  mind  an'  one  body,  an',"  he  added 
thoughtfully,  "  I  don't  guess  I'll  need  a  detective  bureau 
to  locate  him.     If  he  was  chasin'  around  the  other  end  of 


AT  RAINBOW  HILL  VALLEY  21 

the  world  I'd  find  him — sure.  You  see,  he's  the  other 
half  of  me." 

Bud  nodded  in  sympathy,  but  made  no  verbal  reply. 

"See,  Bud,"  Jeff  went  on,  a  moment  later.  "The 
spring  round-up's  through.  We're  going  to  fix  this  deed 
right  away.  When  the  attorneys  have  robbed  us  all  they 
need,  and  Nat's  handed  over,  there'll  be  a  good  month  to 
haying.  That  month  I'm  going  to  spend  in  the  Cathills. 
I'll  be  back  for  the  hay." 

The  other  eased  himself  in  his  rocker.  Then  for  some 
moments  no  sound  broke  the  silence  of  the  room. 

"  It's  been  a  heavy  spring,"  Bud  said  at  last. 

Jeff  nodded.     His  thoughts  were  away  in  the  Cathills. 

"Seems  to  me,"  Bud  went  on.  "Work  kind  o' 
worries  me  some  these  times."  He  smiled.  "  Guess 
the  wheels  need  the  dope  of  leisure.  Mebbe  I  ain't  as 
young  as  you." 

"No."  " 

Jeff's  attention  was  still  wandering. 

"  Guess  the  Cathills  is  an  a' mighty  big  piece  o'  country 
gropin'  around  in,"  Bud  went  on. 

"  Sure.     A  hell  of  a  piece.     But — it  don't  signify." 

"  No-o,"  Bud  meditated.  Then  he  added :  "  I  was  kind 
o'  thinkin'." 

"How?" 

"  Why,  mebbe  two  folks  chasm'  up  a  pin  in  a  bunch  o' 
grass  is  li'ble  to  halve  most  o'  the  chances  agin  either  of 
'em  jabbin'  their  hands  on  the  business  end  of  it." 

"  Two  ?  You  mean  you're  goin'  to  come  along  an'  help 
find— Ronny?" 

Jeff's  eyes  were  expressing  the  thanks  his  lips  with- 
held. 


22  THE  FORFEIT 

Bud  excused  himself. 

"  Them  Cathills  is  plumb  full  of  fur  an'  things.  Say, 
I  ain't  handled  a  gun  in  weeks." 

"Bud,  you're " 

The  door  of  the  room  was  abruptly  flung  open  and 
Jeff's  words  remained  unspoken. 

"  Supper,  folks !  " 

Nan's  smiling  eyes  glanced  from  one  to  the  other. 
She  stood  in  the  doorway  compelling  them.  Besides, 
the  memory  of  Jeff's  letter  was  still  with  her,  and  she 
was  anxious  to  observe  its  later  effect.  That  which  she 
now  beheld  was  obviously  satisfactory,  and  her  smile 
deepened  contentedly. 


CHAPTER  II 

CONFLICTING  CURRENTS 

THEY  were  busy  days  in  Orrville.  But  business  rarely 
yielded  outward  display  in  its  citizens.  Men  talked  more. 
They  perhaps  moved  about  more — in  their  customary 
leisurely  fashion.  But  any  approach  to  bustle  was  as 
foreign  to  the  rule  of  the  township  as  it  would  be  to  a 
colony  of  aged  snails  in  a  cyclone. 

It  was  the  custom  of  Orrville  to  rise  early  and  go  to 
bed  late.  But  this  by  no  means  implies  any  excessive 
activity.  On  the  contrary.  These  spells  of  activity 
lasted  just  as  long  as  their  accomplishment  required. 
In  the  interim  its  citizens  returned  to  a  slumber  little 
less  profound  than  that  which  supervened  at  night 
after  the  last  roysterer  had  been  ejected,  by  force,  or 
persuasion,  from  the  salubrious  precincts  of  Ju  Penrose's 
saloon. 

Orrville  was  a  ranching  township  in  the  northwestern 
corner  of  Montana  lying  roughly  some  twenty  miles  west 
of  the  foothills  of  the  Cathill  Mountains,  which,  in  turn, 
formed  a  projecting  spur  of  the  main  range  of  the 
Rockies. 

Orrville  was  the  township  and  Ju  Penrose  was  the 
pioneer  of  its  commerce.  He  was  a  man  of  keen  in- 
stincts for  commerce  of  his  own  especial  brand,  and 
rejoiced  in  a  disreputable  past.     He  possessed  a  thin, 


24  THE  FORFEIT 

hooked  nose  of  some  dimensions,  which  never  failed  to 
cut  a  way  for  its  owner  into  the  shady  secrets  of  his 
neighbors.  He  possessed  a  temper  as  amiable  and  mild 
as  a  spring  lamb  when  the  stream  of  prosperity  and 
profit  flowed  his  way,  and  as  vitriolic  as  a  she-wolf  in 
winter,  when  that  stream  chanced  to  become  diverted 
into  a  neighbor's  direction. 

He  was  considered  a  man  of  some  importance  in  the 
place.  But  this  was  probably  the  result  of  the  nature 
of  his  trade,  which,  in  the  eyes  of  the  denizens  of  the 
neighborhood,  certainly  possessed  an  advantage  over 
such  stodgy  callings  as  "  dry  goods."  But  besides  the 
all-important  thirst-quenching  purpose  of  his  establish- 
ment, it  had  become  a  sort  of  bureau  for  large  and  small 
transactions  of  a  ranching  nature,  and  a  resort  where 
every  sort  of  card  game  could  be  freely  indulged  in, 
without  regard  for  the  limit  of  the  stakes,  and  had  thus 
gained  for  itself  the  subsidiary  title  amongst  its  clientele 
of  "  Ju's  Poker  Joint" 

At  the  moment  Ju's  usually  busy  tongue  was  tak- 
ing a  well-earned  rest,  and  his  hawk-like  visage  was 
shrouded  in  a  deep,  contemplative  repose.  His  always 
bloodshot  eyes  were  speculative  as  he  surveyed  the 
smoke-laden  scene  from  behind  his  shabby  bar.  The 
place  was  full  of  drinkers  and  gamblers.  The  hour  was 
past  midnight.  And  he  was  estimating  silently  the 
further  spending  possibilities  of  his  customers,  and  con- 
sequently considering  the  advisability  of  closing  down. 

A  group  of  three  ranch  hands  leaned  against  the  cen- 
tre of  the  bar.  Their  glasses  were  empty  and  none  of 
them  seemed  anxious  to  command  their  refilling.  They 
were  talking  earnestly.     And  their  voices  were  unusually 


CONFLICTING  CURRENTS  25 

**odulated.  Just  beyond  these  a  slight,  good-looking 
man  in  chapps,  with  a  face  of  particularly  refined  but 
somewhat  debauched  appearance,  was  obviously  inter- 
ested in  their  talk,  although  he  took  no  part  in  it.  On 
the  other  side  of  them,  away  at  the  far  end  of  the  bar, 
leaned  a  solitary,  tough-looking  drinker,  who  seemed  to 
take  no  interest  whatever  in  his  surroundings.  Every 
man  in  the  place,  the  dozen  or  so  occupying  the  card 
tables  included,  was  fully  armed  in  the  customary  fashion 
prevailing  in  this  distant  corner  of  the  ranching  world, 
and  it  would  have  needed  no  second  thought  to  realize 
that  these  heavy,  loaded  weapons  were  not  by  any  means 
intended  for  decorative  purposes. 

"  Wal,  anyways  they're  a  long  time  fixin'  things," 
observed  one  of  the  three  at  the  centre  of  the  bar,  with 
a  yawn  that  displayed  a  double  row  of  gleaming  white 
teeth.  "  The  boss  guessed  I'd  best  wait  around,  so  it 
ain't  a  heap  o'  use  kickin'.  I'll  hev  to  wait  till  the  durned 
committee's  through,  if  it  takes  'em  sittin'  as  long  us  a 
hide-bound  hen." 

"  It's  alius  that-a-way  when  folks  gets  on  a  committee 
racket,  Curly,"  replied  one  of  his  friends  with  a  sympa- 
thetic grin. 

"  That's  just  how,  Dan,"  agreed  the  third.  "  Hot  air. 
That's  what  it  is.  This  tarnation  Vigilance  stunt  sets 
folk  whisperin'  among  'emselves  'bout  the  hell  goin'  to 
be  ladled  out  to  all  cattle  thieves  in  general.  Gives  'em 
visions  of  hangin'-bees,  an'  a  sort  o'  firework  display 
with  guns  an'  things,  an'  when  they  hatched  out,  what's 
the  result  ?     Why,  a  waste  o'  hot  air,  an' — no  checkens." 

"'T'so,  Dan,"  agreed  Curly,  with  easy  decision. 
"  The  boss  is  too  near  relative  of  a  fancy  gentleman  for 


26  THE  FORFEIT 

to  hand  out  the  sort  o'  dope  rustlers  need.  If  us  boys 
had  the  job  we'd  fix  things  quick.  You'd  see  this  bum 
gang  kicking  air  at  the  end  of  a  rope  'fore  Ju,  here,  had 
time  to  dope  out  four  fingers  of  rotgut  at  the  expense  of 
the  house." 

He  leered  across  at  the  unsmiling  face  of  the  saloon- 
keeper.    Ju  permitted  himself  to  be  drawn. 

"  Nothin'  doin',  Curly."  A  solemn  shake  of  the  head 
set  his  walrus  moustache  flapping.  Then  he  drew  a 
cigar  from  a  top  vest  pocket  and  bit  the  end  through, 
brushing  his  moustache  aside  to  discover  a  place  in 
which  to  deposit  it  in  his  mouth.  "  I'd  sure  hate  to 
dope  out  any  rotgut  on  you  boys.  Y'see,  I  sure  got 
your  health  at  heart.  I  kind  o'  love  you  fellers  to  death. 
I'd  hate  to  see  you  sufferin'  at  my  hands.  Guess  I  was 
raised  Christian." 

"Was  you?" 

Curly's  sarcasm  achieved  the  laugh  intended,  and,  as  a 
result  of  his  satisfaction,  he  flung  his  last  half-dollar  on 
the  dingy  bar. 

"  Make  that  into  three  drops  of  liver  souse,  an'  hand  us 
a  smile,  Ju.     Your  face  is  sure  killin'  trade." 

Ju  rolled  his  cigar  across  his  mouth  under  the  curtain 
of  moustache,  lit  it,  and  proceeded  to  push  an  uncorked 
bottle  across  to  his  customers. 

"  Guess  it  ain't  a  bad  proposition  handin'  you  boys  a 
smile.  Smiles  alius  happen  easy  on  foolish  faces.  Seein' 
I  ain't  deaf  I  been  listenin'  to  your  talk,  an'  I  ain't  made 
up  my  mind  if  you're  as  bright  as  you're  guessin',  or  if 
you're  the  suckers  your  talk  makes  you  out.  Seein'  I 
don't  usual  take  chances,  I'll  put  my  dollars  on  the  sucker 
business.     I've  stood  behind  this  darned  old  bar  fer  ten 


CONFLICTING  CURRENTS  27 

years,  an*  I  guess  for  five  of  'em  I've  listened  to  talk  like 
yours — from  fellers  like  you."  He  removed  the  bottle  from 
which  the  three  men  had  helped  themselves  to  liberal 
"four  fingers,"  and  eyed  their  glasses  askance.  "Now, 
you're  worritin'  over  this  lousy  Lightfoot  gang.  So  was 
the  others.  So's  everybody  bin  fer  five  years.  An'  fer 
five  years  this  same  lousy  Lightfoot  gang  has  just  been 
helpin'  'emselves  to  the  cattle  on  the  ranches  around  here 
— liberal.  Same  as  youse  fellers  have  helped  yourselves 
out  o'  this  bottle.  An',  durin'  that  time,  I  ain't  heard  tell 
of  one  o'  them  boys  who's  been  spoilin'  to  hang  'em  all 
doin'  a  thing.  Not  a  thing,  'cep'  it's  lap  up  whisky  to 
keep  up  a  supply  o'  hot  air. 

"  Wal,"  he  proceeded,  in  his  biting  fashion,  as  he  thrust 
the  bottle  on  the  shelf  and  began  wiping  glasses  with  a 
towel  that  looked  to  be  decomposing  for  want  of  soap, 
"  them  lousy  rustlers  is  still  running  their  play  in  the  dis- 
trict jest  wher',  when,  an'  how  they  darn  please.  See  ? 
You,  Curly,  are  kickin'  because  your  boss  Dug  McFarlane 
is  too  much  of  a  gentleman.  Wal,  if  I  know  a  man  from 
a  seam-squirrel,  I'd  sure  say  Dug's  got  more  savee  in  his 
whiskers  than  you  got  dirt — which  is  some.  If  I  got 
things  right,  this  night's  sittin's  goin'  to  put  paid  to  the 
Lightfoot  gang's  account.  I'd  be  glad  to  say  the  same 
of  one  or  two  scores  three  bums  have  lately  run  up  right 
here." 

The  offensiveness  of  his  manner  left  the  men  quite  un- 
disturbed. The  place  would  have  been  strange  to  them 
without  it.  They  accepted  it  as  part  of  the  evening's  en- 
tertainment. But  the  allusion  to  the  Vigilance  Commit- 
tee's efforts  brought  them  into  attitudes  of  close  attention. 
It  drew  the  attention,  too,  of  the  cattleman  with  the  refined 


28  THE  FORFEIT 

features,  and,  equally,  that  of  the  tough-looking  individual 
at  the  far  end  of  the  bar. 

"  What  are  they  goin'  to  do  ?  "  demanded  Dan  ur- 
gently. 

Ju  puffed  aggravatingly  at  his  cigar. 

"  Do  ?  "  he  echoed  at  last,  gazing  distantly  at  the  card 
players  across  the  room.  "  Why,  what  any  bunch  of 
savee  should  ha'  done  five  years  ago.  Put  out  a  great 
reward." 

Curly  snorted  in  disdain. 

"  See,  I  tho't  it  was  to  be  a  big  play." 

"  You  alius  was  bright,"  sneered  Dan.  "  How's  that 
goin'  to  fix  the  Lightfoot  crowd  ?  " 

"  How?"  Ju's  contempt  always  found  an  outlet  in  the 
echo  of  an  opponent's  interrogation.  "Say,  Dan,  how 
old  are  you  ?    Twenty  ?  " 

"  That  ain't  nuthin'  to  you,"  the  cowpuncher  retorted, 
with  a  gesture  of  hot  impatience. 

"  Ain't  it?  Wal,  mebbe  it  ain't,"  Ju  agreed  imperturb- 
ably.  "  But  y'see  it  takes  years  an'  years  gettin'  the 
value  o'  dollars  right.  I  allow  ther's  folks  guesses  dollars 
talks.  Wal,  I'm  guessin'  they  just  holler.  Make  the  wad 
big  enough  and  ther'  ain't  nuthin'  you  can't  buy  from  a 
wheat  binder  to  a  royal  princess  with  a  crown  o'  jools. 
The  only  thing  you're  li'ble  to  have  trouble  over  is  the 
things  Natur'  fancies  handin'  you  fer — nix.  That  an'  hoss 
sense.  That's  pretty  well  the  world  to-day,  no  matter 
what  the  sky-pilots  an'  Sunday-school  ma'ams  dope 
out  in  their  fancy  literature.  I  know.  You  offer  ten 
thousand  dollars  for  the  hangin'  of  Lightfoot's  gang,  an', 
I  say  right  here,  there  ain't  a  feller  in  it  from  Lightfoot — 
if  there  is  sech  a  feller — down,  who  wouldn't  make  a  grab 


CONFLICTING  CURRENTS  29 

at  that  wad  by  givin'  the  rest  of  the  crowd  away.  Makes 
you  think,  don't  it  ?  Sort  o'  worries  them  empty  think 
tanks  o'  yours." 

But  Ju's  satisfaction  received  an  unexpected  shaking. 

"  Some  wind,"  observed  the  slim,  lonely  drinker,  in  the 
blandest  fashion. 

Ju  was  round  on  him  in  a  flash,  his  walrus  moustache 
bristling. 

"  I'm  listening,"  he  said,  with  a  calmness  which  belied 
his  attitude. 

The  other  set  his  glass  down  on  the  counter  with  a 
bump. 

"  If  you're  listening,"  he  said,  "  you  have  probably  un- 
derstood what  I  said.  You're  talking  through  a  fog  of 
cynicism  which  seems  to  obscure  an  otherwise  fairly  com- 
petent intellect.  You've  plundered  so  many  innocents  in 
your  time  by  purveying  an  excessive  quantity  of  blue- 
stone  disguised  under  the  name  of  alcohol  that  your  over- 
weening conceit  has  entirely  distorted  your  perspective 
till  you  fancy  that  your  own  dregs  of  human  nature  con- 
stitute the  human  nature  of  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  who 
would  entirely  resent  being  classed  as  your  fellows.  In  a 
word  you  need  physic,  Ju." 

The  speaker  laughed  amiably,  and  his  smile  revealed 
the  weakness  which  was  pointed  by  the  signs  of  debauch- 
ery in  his  good-looking  face.  Ju  eyed  him  steadily. 
The  offense  of  his  words  was  mitigated  by  his  manner, 
but  Ju  resented  the  laugh  which  went  round  the  entire 
room  at  his  expense. 

"  See  here,  Bob  Whitstone,"  he  began,  abandoning  his 
glass  wiping  and  supporting  himself  on  his  counter,  with 
his  face  offensively  thrust  in  his  opponent's  direction,  "  I 


3o  THE  FORFEIT 

ain't  got  the  langwidge  you  seem  to  have  lapped  up  with 
your  mother'  s  milk.  I  don't  guess  any  sucker  paid  a 
thousand  dollars  a  year  for  my  college  eddication  so  I 
could  come  out  here  and  grow  a  couple  of  old  beeves  and 
spend  my  leisure  picklin'  my  food  depot  in  a  low  down 
prairie  saloon.  Therefor'  I'll  ask  you  to  excuse  me  if  I 
talk  in  a  kind  o'  langwidge  the  folks  about  here  most  gen- 
er'ly  understan'.  Guess  you  think  you  know  some. 
Maybe  you  rigger  to  know  it  all.  Wal,  get  this.  When 
you  get  back  home  jest  stand  in  front  of  a  ft'  cent  mirror, 
if  you  got  one  in  your  bum  shanty,  an'  get  a  peek  at  your 
map,  an'  ask  yourself — when  you  studied  it  well — if  I 
couldn't  buy  you,  body  an'  soul,  fer  two  thousand  dollars 
— cash.  I'd  sure  hate  slingin'  mud  at  any  feller's  features, 
much  less  yours,  who're  a  good  customer  to  me,  but 
you're  comin'  the  highbrow,  an'  you  got  notions  of  honor 
still  floatin'  around  in  your  flabby  thinkin'  department 
sech  as  was  handed  you  by  the  guys  who  ran  that  thou- 
sand dollar  college.  Wal,  ef  you'll  look  at  yourself  hon- 
est, an'  argue  with  yourself  honest,  you'll  find  them  things 
is  sure  a  shadder  of  the  past  which  happened  somew'eres 
before  you  tasted  that  first  dose  o'  prairie  poison  which 
has  since  become  a  kind  o'  habit.  It  ain't  no  use  in  get- 
ting riled,  Bob,  it  ain't  no  use  in  workin'  overtime  on  that 
college  dictionary  o'  yours  to  set  me  crawlin'  around 
among  the  spit  boxes.  Fac's  is  fac's.  Ken  you  hand  me 
a  list  o'  the  things  you — you  who  ain't  got  two  spare 
cents  to  push  into  the  mission  box,  an'  who'd  willingly 
sleep  in  a  hog  pen  if  it  weren't  for  a  dandy  wife  who'd  got 
no  more  sense  than  to  marry  you — wouldn't  do  if  I  was 
to  hand  you  out  a  roll  of  ten  thousand  dollars  right  now 
—cash  ?    Tcha !    You  think.     I  know." 


CONFLICTING  CURRENTS  31 

He  turned  away  in  a  wave  of  contemptuous  disgust. 
And  as  he  did  so  a  harsh  voice  from  the  other  end  of  the 
bar  held  him  up. 

"  What  about  me,  Ju  ?  " 

The  tough-looking  prairie  man  made  his  demand  with 
a  laugh  only  a  shade  less  harsh  than  his  speaking  voice. 

Ju  stood.  His  desperate,  keen  face  was  coldly  still  as 
he  regarded  the  powerful  frame  of  his  challenger.  Then 
his  retort  came  swift  and  poignant. 

"You,  Sikkem?  You'd  alius  give  yourself  away.  Get 
me?" 

The  frigidity  of  the  saloon-keeper's  manner  was  over- 
powering. The  man  called  Sikkem  was  unequal  in  words 
to  such  a  challenge.  A  flush  slowly  dyed  his  lean  cheeks, 
and  an  angry  depression  of  the  brows  suggested  some- 
thing passionate  and  forceful.  Just  for  a  moment  many 
eyes  glanced  in  his  direction.  The  saloon-keeper  was 
steadily  regarding  him.  There  was  no  suggestion  of 
anger  in  his  attitude,  merely  cat-like  watchfulness.  Their 
eyes  met.  Then  the  cloud  abruptly  lifted  from  Sikkem's 
brow,  and  he  laughed  with  unsmiling,  black  eyes.  The 
saloon-keeper  rinsed  a  glass  and  unconcernedly  began  to 
wipe  it. 

The  incident  was  allowed  to  pass.  But  it  was  the  ter- 
mination of  the  discussion,  a  termination  which  left  Ju 
victor,  not  because  of  the  Tightness  of  his  views,  but 
because  there  was  no  man  in  Orrville  capable  of  joining 
issue  with  him  in  debate  with  any  hope  of  success.  Ac- 
tion rather  than  words  was  the  prevailing  feature  with 
these  people,  and,  in  his  way,  Ju  Penrose  was  equal,  if 
not  superior,  not  only  in  debate,  but  in  the  very  method 
these  people  best  understood, 


32  THE  FORFEIT 

A  moment  later  Sikkem  took  his  departure. 


It  was  well  past  midnight  when  the  last  man  turned  out 
of  Ju's  bar.  But  the  crowd  had  not  yet  scattered  to  their 
various  homes.  They  were  gathered  in  a  small,  excited 
cluster  gaping  up  at  a  big  notice  pasted  on  the  weather- 
boarding  of  the  saloon-keeper's  shack.  Ju  himself  was 
standing  in  their  midst,  right  in  front  of  the  notice,  which 
had  been  indited  in  ink,  evidently  executed  with  a  piece 
of  flat  wood.  He  was  holding  up  a  lantern,  and  every 
eye  was  carefully,  and  in  many  instances  laboriously, 
studying  the  text  inscribed. 

It  was  a  notice  of  reward.  A  reward  of  ten  thousand 
dollars  for  information  leading  to  the  capture  of  the  gang 
of  cattle  thieves  known  as  the  "  Lightfoot  gang."  And 
it  was  signed  by  Dug  McFarlane  on  behalf  of  the  Orrville 
Rancher's  Vigilance  Committee. 

"  Guess  Ju  knowed  after  all,"  somebody  observed,  in  a 
confidential  tone  to  his  neighbor. 

But  Ju's  ears  were  as  long  and  sharp  as  his  tongue. 
He  flashed  round  on  the  instant,  his  lantern  lowered 
from  the  level  of  the  notice  board.  There  was  a  sort 
of  cold  triumph  in  his  manner  as  his  eyes  fell  upon  the 
speaker. 

"  Know'd  ?  "  he  cried  sharply.  "  Ain't  '  knowin' '  my 
business  ?  Psha  !  "  His  contempt  was  withering.  Then 
his  manner  changed  back  to  the  triumph  which  the 
notice  had  inspired.  "  Say,  it's  a  great  piece  of  money. 
It  surely  is  some  bunch.  Ten  thousand  dollars  !  Gee  ! 
His  game's  up.  Lightfoot's  as  good  as  kickin'  his  heels 
agin  the  breezes.     He's  played  his  hand,  an' — lost." 


CONFLICTING  CURRENTS  33 

And  somehow  no  one  seemed  inclined  to  add  to  his 
statement.  Nor,  which  was  much  more  remarkable,  con- 
tradict it.  Now  that  these  men  had  seen  the  notice  with 
their  own  eyes  the  force  of  all  Ju  had  so  recently  con- 
tended came  home  to  them.  There  was  not  one  amongst 
that  little  gathering  who  did  not  realize  the  extent  of  the 
odds  militating  against  the  rustlers.  Ten  thousand  dol- 
lars I  There  was  not  a  man  present  who  did  not  feel  the 
tremendous  power  of  such  a  reward. 

The  gathering  melted  away  slowly,  and  finally  Bob 
Whitstone  was  left  alone  before  the  gleaming  sheet  of 
paper,  with  Ju  standing  in  his  doorway.  The  lantern 
was  at  his  feet  upon  the  sill.  His  hands  were  thrust  in 
the  tops  of  his  shabby  trousers.  He  was  regarding  the 
"  gentleman "  rancher  meditatively,  and  his  half  burnt 
cigar  glowed  under  the  deep  intake  of  his  powerful 
lungs. 

"  It's  a  dandy  bunch,  Bob,  eh  ? "  he  demanded  pres- 
ently, in  an  ironical  tone.  "  Guess  I'd  come  nigh  sellin' 
my  own  father  fer — ten  thousand  dollars.  An'  I  don't 
calc'late  I'd  get  nightmare  neither."  Then  he  drew  a 
deep  breath  which  suggested  regret.  "  But — it  ain't 
comin'  my  way.  No.  Not  by  a  sight."  Then,  after  a 
watchful  pause,  he  continued :  "  I'm  kind  o'  figgerin' 
whose  way.  Not  mine,  or — yours.  Eh,  Bob  ?  We  could 
do  with  it.     Pity,  ain't  it?" 

Bob  turned.  His  eyes  sought  the  face  in  the  shadow 
of  the  doorway. 

"  I'm  no  descendant  of  Judas,"  he  said  coldly. 

"No.  But — Judas  didn't  sell  a  gang  of  murdering 
cattle  rustlers.     That  ain't  Judas  money." 

"  Maybe.     But  it's  blood  money  all  the  same." 


34  THE  FORFEIT 

"  Mighty  bad  blood  that  oughter  be  spilt." 

Bob  turned  away.  His  gaze  wandered  out  westward. 
Then  his  eyes  came  slowly  back  to  the  man  in  the  door- 
way. 

"  You  thought  I  was  talking  hot  air  just  now — about 
a  man's  price.  You  didn't  like  it.  Well,  when  I  find 
myself  with  a  price  I  hope  I  shan't  live  to  be  paid  it. 
That's  all." 

The  man  in  the  doorway  shook  his  head.  Then  he 
spoke  slowly,  deliberately.  And  somehow  much  of  the 
sharpness  had  gone  out  of  his  tone,  and  the  hard  glitter 
of  his  steely  eyes  had  somehow  become  less  pronounced. 

"  Oh,  I  guess  I  got  your  meanin'  right,  fer  all  yer  thou- 
sand dollar  langwidge.  Sure,  I  took  you  right  away. 
But — it  don't  signify  a  cuss  anyways.  Guess  you  was 
born  a  gentleman,  Bob,  which  I  wa'an't.  An'  because 
you  was  born  an'  raised  that-a-way  you'd  surely  like  to 
kep  right  hold  o'  the  notion  that  folks  ken  still  act  as 
though  they'd  been  weaned  on  talk  of  honor  an'  sichlike. 
I  sez  kep  a  holt  on  that  notion.  Grip  it  tight,  an'  don't 
never  let  go  on  it.  Grab  it  same  as  you  would  the  feller 
that's  yearnin'  fer  your  scalp.  If  you  lose  your  grip  that 
tow-colored  scalp  of  yours' 11  be  raised  sure,  an'  every  per- 
nicious breeze  that  blows  '11  get  into  your  think  depot 
and  hand  you  every  sort  of  mental  disease  ther'  ain't 
physic  enough  in  the  world  to  cure.  Guess  that's  plumb 
right.  It  don't  cut  no  ice  what  I  think.  A  feller  like  me 
jest  thinks  the  way  life  happens  to  boost  him.  Y'see,  I 
ain't  had  no  thousand  dollar  eddication  to  make  me  see 
things  any  other  ways.  Life's  a  mighty  tough  proposi- 
tion an'  it  can't  be  run  on  no  schedule,  an'  each  feller's 
got  to  travel  the  way  he  sees  with  his  own  two  eyes.     If 


CONFLICTING  CURRENTS  35 

he's  got  the  spectacles  of  a  thousand  dollar  eddication  he's 
an  a'mighty  lucky  feller,  an'  I'm  guessin'  they'll  help  him 
dodge  a  whole  heap  o'  muck  holes  he'd  otherwise  bury 
his  silly  head  in.  So  hang  on,  boy.  Grip  them  darn  fool 
notions  so  they  ain't  got  a  chance.  If  you  let  go — wal, 
you'll  get  a  full-sized  peek  into  a  pretty  fancy  sort  o'  hell 
wher'  ther'  ain't  any  sort  o'  chance  o'  dopin'  your  visions 
out  o'  sight  with  Ju  Penrose's  belly  wash.     So  long." 

Ju  picked  up  his  lantern  and  turned  back  into  his  bar, 
closing  and  securing  his  door  behind  him.  Then,  with 
keen  anticipation  and  enjoyment,  he  approached  his  till 
and  proceeded  to  count  his  day's  takings. 


Bob  Whitstone  unhitched  his  horse  from  Ju's  tying  post. 
He  swung  himself  into  the  saddle  and  rode  away, — away 
toward  his  outland  home  under  the  starlit  roof  of  the 
plains.  It  was  an  almost  nightly  journey  with  him  now, 
for  the  saloon  habit  had  caught  him  in  its  toils,  and  was 
already  holding  him  firmly. 

His  mood  was  not  easy.  He  resented  Ju  Penrose.  He 
resented  all  men  of  his  type.  He  knew  him  for  a  crook. 
He  believed  he  possessed  no  more  conscience  than  any 
other  habitual  criminal.  But  his  resentment  was  the  weak 
echo  of  an  upbringing  which  had  never  intended  him  for 
such  association,  and,  in  spite  of  it,  the  man's  personality 
held  him,  and  its  strength  dominated  him. 

His  way  took  him  out  across  an  almost  trackless  waste 
of  rich  grass-land.  Somewhere  out  there,  hidden  away  at 
the  foot  of  the  Cathills,  lay  his  homestead,  and  the  wife 
for  whom  he  had  abandoned  all  that  his  birth  had  entitled 
him  to.     During  the  past  two  years  he  had  learned  truly 


36  THE  FORFEIT 

all  that  he  had  sacrificed  for  the  greatest  of  all  dreams  of 
youth. 

But  these  things,  for  the  moment,  were  not  in  his  mind. 
Only  Penrose.  Ju  Penrose,  whom  he  had  learned  to  detest 
and  despise  out  of  the  educated  mind  that  was  his.  The 
man's  final  homily  was  entirely  lost  upon  Bob.  Such  was 
his  temper  that  only  the  gross  outrages  against  the  pre- 
cepts of  his  youth  remained.  He  only  heard  the  hateful, 
detestable  cynicism,  brutally  expressed.  It  was  some- 
thing curious  how  he  only  took  note  of  these  things,  and 
missed  the  rough  solicitude  of  Ju's  final  admonishment. 
But  he  was  young  and  weak,  and  a  shadow  of  bitterness 
had  entered  his  life,  which,  at  his  age,  should  have  found 
no  place  in  it. 

The  miles  swept  away  under  his  horse's  hoofs.  Al- 
ready the  township,  that  sparse  little  oasis  of  shelter  in  a 
desert  of  grass-land,  lay  lost  behind  him  in  the  depths  of 
some  hidden  trough  in  the  waves  of  the  prairie  ocean. 
The  great  yellow  disc  of  the  moon  had  cut  the  horizon 
and  lit  his  tracks,  but  its  light  was  still  unrevealing  and 
only  added  charm  to  the  blaze  of  summer  jewels  which 
adorned  the  soft  velvet  of  the  heavens. 

He  glanced  back.  But  almost  instantly  his  eyes  were 
turned  again  ahead.  The  night  scene  of  these  plains  was 
too  familiar  to  him  to  excite  interest.  To  him  there  were 
simply  miles  intervening  between  him  and  the  slumbers 
he  was  seeking.  The  prairie,  for  all  its  beauties,  spelt 
toilful  days  and  bitter  disappointment  for  him.  Wherein 
then  should  be  discovered  its  charms  ? 

Again  his  mind  ^settled  itself  upon  the  events  of  the 
evening.  Price?  Price?  Every  man,  he  had  been  told, 
had  his  price.     Every  man  and  woman.     He  uttered  a 


CONFLICTING  CURRENTS  37 

sound.  It  might  have  been  a  laugh,  but  it  lacked  mirth. 
It  startled  his  alert  horse.  It  almost  seemed  to  startle  the 
quiet  night  itself.  What  was  his  price?  All  he  knew 
about  price  was  its  payment.  He  had  only  been  called 
upon  to  pay.  And  he  had  paid  !  My  God,  he  had  paid  ! 
All  that  had  been  his.  All  the  wealth,  the  comfort,  the 
luxury  and  prospects  which  had  been  his  in  his  wealthy 
father's  home,  had  been  the  price  he  had  paid  for  the 
right,  which  was  the  right  of  every  man,  to  choose  for 
himself,  and  to  take  to  himself  and  to  wife,  the  woman  who 
seemed  to  him  to  be  the  one  creature  in  the  world  who 
could  yield  him  the  happiness  which  alone  was  worth 
while. 

This  talk  of  a  man's  price  only  enraged  him  the  more. 
He  viciously  detested  Ju  Penrose,  and  all  such  creatures 
who  walked  the  world. 

Well,  the  reward  was  out.  Time  would  show.  If  it 
failed  to  find  the  Judas  he  would  remind  Ju.  Oh,  yes, 
he  would  remind  him.  He  would  wait  his  time  for  the 
reminder.  He  would  wait  till  the  saloon  was  full,  and 
then — then  he  would  open  out  his  batteries.  Men  were 
of 

What  was  that  ? 

He  had  pulled  his  horse  up  with  a  swift  tightening  of 
his  hand.  Now  the  beast  stood  with  head  erect,  and 
pricked  ears  firmly  thrust  forward.  Its  head  was  turned 
southward,  and  the  gush  of  its  distended  nostrils  warned 
its  rider  that  his  question  was  shared  by  a  creature  whose 
instincts  were  even  more  acute,  here,  on  the  prairie,  than 
those  of  its  human  master. 

Bob  bent  down  in  the  saddle  the  better  to  obtain  the 
silhouette  of   the  sky-line.     The  sound  which  had  held 


38  THE  FORFEIT 

him  came  up  on  the  southern  night  breeze.  It  was  a 
low  murmur,  or  rumble,  and,  to  his  accustomed  ears,  it 
suggested  the  speeding  of  hoofs  over  the  green  clad 
earth.  He  waited  for  many  moments,  but  the  sound 
only  increased.  There  was  no  doubt  left  in  his  mind 
now.     None  at  all. 

He  sat  up  again  and  glanced  swiftly  about  him.  The 
moonlight  had  increased,  and  a  silver  sheen  threw  up  the 
surrounding  scene  into  indistinct  relief.  Beyond,  to  his 
right,  he  detected  a  small  patch  of  scrub  and  spruce,  and, 
without  a  second  thought,  he  made  for  it. 

A  minute  later  he  was  out  of  the  saddle  beside  his 
horse,  screened  from  view  of  the  plains  by  a  belt  of  bush. 
He  secured  his  horse  and  moved  to  the  fringe  of  his  shel- 
ter. Here  he  took  up  a  position  facing  south,  and  his 
view  of  the  plains  beyond  became  uninterrupted. 

He  knew  what  was  coming.  Instinct  warned  him. 
Perhaps  even  it  was  the  wish  fathering  his  belief.  He 
felt  it  was  a  certainty  that  the  rustlers  were  out  pursuing 
their  depredations  with  their  customary  unchallenged  dar- 
ing. Who,  he  wondered,  was  the  present  victim,  and 
what  was  the  extent  of  the  raid  ? 

He  had  not  long  to  wait.  The  sound  grew.  It  lost  its 
distant  continuity  and  became  broken  into  the  distinct 
hoof  beats  of  large  numbers.  Furthermore,  by  the  sound 
of  it,  they  would  pass  right  across  his  front.  He  had  been 
wise  in  seeking  cover.     Had  he  remained 

But  speculation  gave  way  before  the  interest  of  move- 
ment. Now  the  silhouette  of  the  sky-line  was  dancing 
before  his  eyes.  In  the  moonlight  he  cou'd  clearly  make 
out  the  passing  of  a  driven  herd.  It  came  on,  losing  itself 
in  the  shadows  of  a  distant  trough.     Again  it  appeared. 


CONFLICTING  CURRENTS  39 

More  distinct  now.  He  whistled  under  his  breath.  They 
were  coming  from  the  direction  of  Dug  McFarlane's  and 
it  was  a  large  herd.  They  were  traveling  northwest, 
which  would  cut  into  the  hills  away  to  the  north  of  his 
homestead.     They 

But  they  were  almost  abreast  of  him  now,  and  he  heard 
the  voices  of  men  urging  and  cursing.  Lower  he  dropped 
toward  the  earth  the  better  to  ascertain  the  numbers.  But 
his  estimate  was  uncertain.  There  were  moments  when 
the  herd  looked  very  large.  There  were  moments  when 
it  looked  less.  He  felt  that  a  conservative  estimate  would 
be  one  hundred  perhaps,  and  some  eight  or  ten  men  driv- 
ing them. 

They  were  gone  as  they  had  come,  lumbering  rapidly, 
and  as  they  passed  northward  the  southern  breeze  carried 
the  sound  away.  It  died  out  quickly,  and  for  minutes 
longer  than  was  needed  he  stood  listening,  listening. 
Then,  at  last,  he  turned  back  to  his  horse. 

In  the  two  years  of  his  sojourn  on  the  land  it  was  the 
first  time  he  had  witnessed  the  operation  of  the  Lightfoot 
gang,  and  it  left  a  deep  impression  upon  his  mind.  A 
great  resentment  rose  up  in  him.  It  was  the  natural 
temper  of  a  man  who  is  concerned,  in  however  small  a 
degree,  in  the  cattle  industry.  And  his  anger  urged  him 
to  a  greater  speed  for  home,  and  a  greater  sympathy  for 
the  man  who  was  prepared  to  accept  the  Judas  money 
offered  for  the  lives  of  this  gang  of  criminals. 


CHAPTER  III 

TRAILING  THE 

THE  woman  started.  She  threw  up  her  head.  Her 
wide  eyes,  wonderful  and  dark,  searched  the  deep  aisles 
of  the  shaded  pine  woods  about  her.  Her  hair  hung 
loosely  in  a  knot  at  the  nape  of  her  neck,  and  its  in- 
tensely dark  masses  made  an  exquisite  framing  for  the 
oval  of  the  handsome  face  beneath  the  loose  brim  of  a 
wide  prairie  hat. 

The  stillness  of  these  wooded  slopes  of  the  Cathills  was 
profound.  They  possessed  something  of  the  solemnity 
belonging  to  the  parent  range  of  the  Rockies  beyond. 
For  they  were  almost  primeval.  The  woman  might  have 
belonged  to  them,  her  dark  beauty  so  harmonized  with 
its  surroundings.  Yet  for  all  her  coloring,  for  all  the 
buckskin  she  wore  for  upper  garment,  there  was  nothing 
in  her  nature  of  the  outlands  which  now  claimed  her. 
She  was  of  the  cities.  She  was  bred  and  nurtured  in  the 
civilized  places.  The  life  about  her  was  another  life.  It 
was  crude  and  foreign  to  her.  It  claimed  her  by  force  of 
circumstance  against  every  instinct  and  emotion. 

Her  searching  ceased,  and  her  eyes  fixed  their  steady 
regard  upon  a  gray-brown  object  moving  amongst  the 
myriad  of  black  stanchions  which  supported  the  tousled 
roof  of  melancholy  green  foliage  above  her.  With  an 
almost  imperceptible  movement  one  buckskin  clad  arm 


TRAILING  THE  "BLACK  TAIL"  41 

reached  slowly  out  toward  the  small  sporting  rifle  which 
leaned  against  an  adjacent  tree-trunk.  Her  whole  poise 
was  tense  and  steady.  There  was  in  her  attitude  that 
hard  decision  which  one  associates  only  with  the  expe- 
rienced hunter.  There  was  almost  too  much  decision  in 
a  woman  so  obviously  young. 

The  weapon  was  drawn  toward  her.  For  one  brief 
moment  it  was  laid  across  her  lap  upon  the  paper-cov- 
ered book  she  had  been  reading.  Then  its  butt  found  its 
way  to  a  resting  place  against  her  soft  shoulder.  Not  for 
an  instant  had  her  gaze  been  diverted  from  the  moving 
object.  Now,  however,  her  head  inclined  forward,  and 
her  warm  cheek  was  laid  against  the  cool  butt.  The 
sights  of  the  weapon  were  brought  up  into  line.  The 
pressure  of  her  forefinger  was  increased  upon  the  trigger. 
There  was  a  sharp  report  followed  by  a  swift  rush  of 
scampering  hoofs  amongst  the  brittle  pine  cones  and 
needles  which  carpeted  the  twilit  woods.  Then,  in  a 
flash,  all  the  tense  poise  gave  way  to  considered  but 
rapid  activity. 

The  woman  sprang  to  her  feet.  She  was  tall  and 
straight  as  a  willow.  Her  rough  canvas  skirt  was  di- 
vided. Her  buckskin  shirt  was  fringed  and  beaded. 
She  made  a  picture  of  active  purpose  that  belied  her 
femininity.  In  a  moment  she  was  in  the  saddle  of  the 
pony  which  had  been  dozing  a  few  yards  away.  Her 
rifle  was  slung  upon  one  shoulder,  and  her  paper-covered 
book  was  thrust  within  the  fastenings  of  her  shirt.  She 
was  hot  in  pursuit  of  the  small  black-tailed  deer  which 
her  shot  had  wounded. 

Effie  bent  low  in  the  saddle  which  she  rode  astride. 
Her  well-accustomed  pony  twisted  and  turned,  threading 


42  THE  FORFEIT 

its  way  almost  miraculously  through  the  labyrinth  of  bald 
tree-trunks.  These  pot-hunts,  which  were  of  such  fre- 
quent occurrence,  were  the  recreation  which  alone  made 
life  tolerable  to  its  mistress. 

The  woman  saw  only  her  quarry.  For  the  rest  she 
left  the  road  to  her  pony.  With  slack  reins  she  leaned 
forward,  carrying  her  featherweight  over  the  horn  of  the 
saddle.  The  woods  meant  nothing  to  her.  The  maze 
of  tree-trunks  as  they  sped  by  conveyed  no  threat  of 
danger.  She  was  concerned  only  with  the  obviously 
limping  beast  which  was  to  provide  venison  for  the  pot 
for  the  next  two  weeks  to  come. 

Her  pony  gained  nothing  upon  the  wounded  deer. 
But  it  lost  no  distance  either.  The  scene  changed  and 
changed  again.  The  woods  yielded  to  open  grass,  and 
again  they  merged  into  scattered  scrub,  through  which 
it  was  difficult  to  track  their  quarry.  Up  hill,  down  dale, 
over  hummock,  through  hollow.  Once  more  through 
the  dark  aisles  of  aged  pine  woods.  And  always  north- 
ward. 

Time  had  no  place  in  the  woman's  mind.  Excitement, 
hope,  doubt.  These  occupied  her  to  the  full.  And  above 
all  purpose  reigned. 

Twice  she  drew  up  to  within  shot.  But  she  refrained. 
She  was  herself  as  breathless  as  her  quarry,  and  the  shot 
would  probably  have  been  wasted.  Besides,  those  pauses 
of  the  poor  hunted  beast  carried  their  own  significance  to 
her  practised  mind.  Its  limping  was  sore,  and  now  its 
stumblings  were  becoming  more  and  more  frequent. 

They  had  passed  an  open  stretch,  a  mere  cup  sur- 
rounded by  sharp-rising,  pine-clad  hills.  They  entered 
woods  on  the  northernmost  slope,  and  began  a  climb  so 


TRAILING  THE  "BLACK  TAIL"  43 

severe  that  pursuer  and  pursued  were  brought  to  a  sheer 
scramble.  The  toil  was  terrific,  but  Erne's  pony,  bred  of 
the  tough  prairie  fibre,  clawed  up  with  indomitable  cour- 
age and  endurance.  The  deer  kept  its  lead  by  desperate, 
agonizing  effort,  and  the  woman  knew  that  the  summit 
would  have  exhausted  its  resources. 

On  they  went,  on  and  up,  the  pace  of  both  ever  slack- 
ening. One  hundred  yards  only  separated  them  now, 
and,  with  almost  every  stride,  the  distance  was  lessening. 
The  summit  was  in  sight.  The  pony  was  blowing  hard. 
Effie  urged  him,  and  the  vicious  Mexican  spurs  found 
his  flanks.  There  was  no  thought  of  sparing  in  the  girl's 
mind.  If  the  broncho  failed  her,  then  she  must  finish  the 
chase  on  foot. 

Another  fifty  yards  or  so  and  the  deer  would  have 
reached  the  summit.  Could  she  permit  it  ?  Dared  she 
risk  what  lay  beyond  ?  If  the  open  pine  woods  continued 
she  might,  but — what  lay  beyond  ? 

Without  further  speculation  she  suddenly  flung  out  of 
the  saddle.  Her  decision  was  taken.  She  dared  not  risk 
that  summit  with  her  pony  now  rapidly  failing.  She 
must  chance  her  own  unsteadiness.  The  pursuit  had 
been  hard  and  breathless.  Well,  she  must  trust  to  her 
nerve. 

She  left  her  steaming  pony  and  dropped  on  one  knee. 
With  all  her  mind  and  will  concentrated  she  drew  a  deep 
breath  as  the  rifle  was  raised  to  her  shoulder.  With  a 
stern  deliberation  she  leveled  her  sights  and  fired.  The 
spent  deer  stood,  and  shook,  and  then  gazed  round. 
There  was  something  dreadful  in  the  appeal  of  its  wistful 
attitude.  For  one  second  the  woman  closed  her  eyes. 
Then  they  opened,  and  their  beauty  was  full  of  resolve. 


44  THE  FORFEIT 

Again  the  rifle  was  at  her  shoulder.  Again  the  sights 
were  leveled.  Again  the  weapon  spat  out  its  vicious 
pellet.  This  time  the  weapon  was  lowered  for  good,  and 
the  movement  was  inspired  by  the  sight  of  the  deer.  It 
quietly  dropped  upon  its  knees  and  rolled  over  on  its  side. 

Ten  minutes  later  the  body  of  the  deer  was  securely 
lashed  to  the  back  of  the  saddle.  There  was  no  regret 
in  the  heart  of  the  woman  as  her  practised  fingers  secured 
the  warm  body.  It  was  game.  Fair  game,  brought 
down  in  open  chase,  and  it  would  provide  welcome 
change  in  the  monotonous  diet  of  her  home.  Besides, 
the  spirit  of  the  hunter  gripped  her  soul.  It  was  the  only 
thing  which  made  life  endurable  in  these  drab  outlands. 

At  the  summit  of  the  hill  she  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief. 
Her  judgment  and  decision  were  amply  proved.  Nor  in 
any  uncertain  fashion.  The  woods  ceased  in  a  clean  cut, 
such  as  is  so  frequently  the  case  where  the  pine  world 
reigns.  And  rearing  blankly  before  her  gaze  stood  a 
dense  barrier  of  low  and  heavy  green  bush.  It  needed 
small  enough  imagination  to  realize  the  security  which 
lay  in  its  depths  for  so  small  a  creature  as  a  wounded 
deer. 

For  some  thoughtful  moments  Efne  gazed  upon  the 
barrier.  Then  she  turned  and  surveyed  her  dejected  pony. 
Again  her  decision  was  taken  without  hesitation.  She 
stooped  and  set  a  pair  of  hobbles  about  the  tired  creature's 
pasterns,  and,  leaving  him  to  his  own  devices,  set  off  to 
ascertain  her  whereabouts. 


But  her  movements  were  not  without  feminine  curiosity, 
added  to  which  was  the  businesslike  desire  to  familiarize 


TRAILING  THE  "BLACK  TAIL"  45 

herself  with  every  foot  of  the  country  within  reach  of  her 
home.  This  was  a  break  into  new  territory.  Time  was 
small  enough  object  to  her,  and,  besides,  her  pony  needed 
time  to  recuperate  from  its  leg  weariness. 

It  required  less  than  ten  minutes,  however,  to  banish 
every  other  thought  from  her  mind  and  absorb  it  in 
amazement  at  her  discovery.  A  brief  battle  with  a  dense 
and  obstinate  scrub  found  her  standing  in  the  centre  of  a 
wide  sort  of  bridle  path,  scored  with  a  dozen  or  so  cattle 
tracks  crowded  with  the  spurs  of  driven  cattle. 

She  stood  gazing  down  at  the  signs  everywhere  about 
her  in  the  loose  sand,  dumbfounded  at  the  sight.  She 
knew  there  was  no  homestead  or  ranch  within  miles  of 
this  region.  Was  she  not  bitterly  aware  that  her  own 
home  marked  the  fringe  of  the  cattle  world  in  this 
direction  ? 

Slowly  there  grew  in  the  depths  of  her  heart  a  feeling 
of  apprehension.  The  stillness,  the  remoteness,  the 
tremendous  solitude,  and  yet — those  tracks. 

She  stood  intent  and  listening.  Her  ears  were  strain- 
ing for  a  sound.  But  only  there  came  to  her  the  whis- 
pering breezes  rustling  the  mournful  foliage  of  the  pine 
woods  behind  her.  Her  eyes  were  raised  to  the  walls  of 
scrub  lining  the  roadway.  They  searched  vainly  for 
a  sign.  There  was  none.  Simply  the  riot  of  nature 
about  her,  and,  at  her  feet,  those  tracks. 

She  moved.  Then  swiftly  she  passed  across  to  the 
western  side  of  the  roadway  where  the  westering  sun 
threw  ample  shadow.  All  unconsciously  it  seemed  her 
movements  became  almost  furtive,  furtive  and  rapid.  She 
passed  down  the  bush-lined  way,  hugging  the  grassy 
edges  to  avoid  leaving  trace  of  her  footsteps  in  the  sand. 


46  THE  FORFEIT 

Understanding  was  with  her,  and  that  understanding 
warned  her  of  the  jeopardy  in  which  she  stood  should  her 
presence  be  advertised. 

Thought,  speculation  and  imagination  were  a-riot  in 
her  now.  She  was  proceeding  in  the  direction  the  broad 
cloven  hoof  marks  indicated.     What — lay  beyond  ? 

Many  minutes  passed.  Breathless  minutes  of  pulsing 
excitement  for  the  woman  who  knew  only  monotony 
and  the  drudgery  of  an  outland  life.  No  womanish  fears 
could  deter  her.  She  believed  and  hoped  she  was  on  the 
eve  of  a  great  discovery,  and  such  was  her  reckless  desire 
that  nothing  could  deter  her. 

The  aspect  of  the  scrub  changed.  It  became  dotted 
with  taller  trees.  The  paler  foliage  of  spruce  reared 
itself,  and,  here  and  there,  isolated  clumps  of  towering 
pines  threw  shadows  across  her  path.  Then  gaps  broke 
up  the  continuity,  but,  even  so,  the  view  beyond  to  her 
left  was  cut  off  by  remoter  growths.  Once  or  twice  she 
hazarded  her  way  into  them  in  her  search  for  informa- 
tion, but  always  she  returned  to  the  broad  track  of  the 
footprints  of  driven  cattle. 

The  pathway  rose  at  a  steep  incline.  It  bent  away  to 
the  right,  and,  in  the  distance,  it  seemed  that  it  must 
converge  upon  the  sharp  cut  edge  of  the  great  pine 
woods  she  had  so  recently  left.  With  this  conclusion 
came  another.  The  track  must  terminate  abruptly  or  it 
must  pass  back  into  the  great  pine  bluff. 

The  end,  however,  was  neither  of  these  things.  And 
it  was  far  nearer  than  she  had  suspected.  The  path 
twisted  back  into  the  huge  reverse  of  an  S,  and  finished 
abruptly  at  the  sharp  edge  of  a  wide  deep  valley. 

It  came  upon  her  almost  with  a  shock.     The  tracks 


TRAILING  THE  "BLACK  TAIL"  47 

had  abruptly  swung  westward.  She  rounded  the  bend, 
and,  in  a  moment,  found  herself  gazing  out  over  a  wide 
valley  from  a  dizzy  height. 

Her  first  feeling  was  that  the  drop  was  sheer,  pre- 
cipitate. Then  realization  superseded,  and  she  flung  her- 
self full  length  upon  the  ground  and  pressed  her  way  into 
the  shelter  of  an  adjacent  bush.  The  path  had  not  ended. 
It  passed  over  the  brink  and  continued  its  way  zigzagging 
down  the  terrific  slope  to  the  valley  below.  It  was  this, 
and  the  sight  of  a  distant  spiral  of  smoke  rising  from  be- 
low, which  had  flung  her  into  the  shelter  of  the  friendly 
bush.  Her  risk  had  only  been  momentary,  but  even  in 
that  moment  she  had  been  silhouetted  in  full  view  of  any 
chance  gaze  below. 

She  drew  herself  toward  the  edge  of  the  drop.  Just 
where  she  had  flung  herself  it  was  clean  and  sheer,  and 
the  bush  overhung.  Thus  she  was  left  with  a  full  view 
of  the  depths  below.  Her  dark  eyes  dwelt  upon  the  zig- 
zagging path.  She  followed  its  downward  course  to  the 
green  plain.  She  tracked  it  across  to  the  far  side  of  the 
valley.  Then  she  drew  a  sharp  breath,  and  her  eyes 
widened. 

The  telltale  smoke  rose  from  the  heart  of  a  woodland 
bluff,  and  near  by  a  large  herd  of  cattle  was  grazing, 
watched  over  by  three  mounted  men  whose  horses  were 
moving  slowly  over  the  bright  green  carpet  of  grass. 

She  lay  quite  still,  regardless  of  all  but  those  moving 
figures,  and  the  dark  green  bluff.  She  was  watching 
and  waiting  for  she  knew  not  what.  Her  heart  was 
thumping  in  her  bosom,  and  her  breath  came  rapidly. 
There  was  no  question  in  her  mind.  In  a  moment  her 
whole    life    seemed    to  have  changed.     The  day  had 


48  THE  FORFEIT 

dawned  to  a  contemplation  of  the  monotonous  round  of 
drudging  routine,  only  to  close  with  a  thrill  such  as  she 
had  never  dreamed  could  be  hers. 

The  moments  passed  ;  rapid,  poignant  moments.  The 
sun  dipped  lower  toward  the  alabaster  crests  of  distant 
mountain  peaks.  The  peace  of  the  scene  suggested 
nothing  of  the  turbulent  thought  a-riot  behind  her  wide, 
dark  eyes.  What  must  be  done  ?  What  could  she  do — 
a  woman  ?    She  felt  helpless — so  helpless.     And  yet 

She  raised  herself  upon  her  elbow  and  propped  her 
soft  cheek  upon  the  palm  of  her  hand.  She  must  think — 
think.  The  chance  of  it  all.  It  was  so  strange.  There 
lay  the  secret  revealed — the  secret  which  every  rancher 
in  the  district  for  years  had  sought  to  discover.  There 
was  the  camp  of  the  Lightfoot  gang.  She  had  dis- 
covered it,  had  discovered  its  approach.  Everything — 
she,  a  woman. 

What    could   she   do   with   the   secret?     How   could 

she She  thought  of  her  husband.     But  somehow 

her  enthusiasm  lessened  with  the  thought.  But  she 
needed  him.  Yes.  There  was  no  room  for  any  doubt 
on  that  score.  He  must  be  roused,  and  convinced.  He 
most  be  made  to  see  the  importance  and  significance  of 
her  discovery,  and  they  must  turn  it  to 

The  crack  of  a  rifle  startled  her.  Almost  on  the  instant 
the  whistling,  tearing  of  a  bullet  sounded  in  the  bush  to 
the  left  of  her.  Her  glance  was  terrified  as  it  turned  in 
the  direction.  Then,  in  a  moment,  she  was  crouching 
lower  as  she  searched  the  valley  away  over  by  the  bluff. 

In  an  instant  her  nerves  strung  tight.  A  group  of 
men  were  standing  just  within  its  shadow,  and  the  three 
horsemen,  who  had  been  riding  round  the  cattle,  were 


TRAILING  THE  "BLACK  TAIL"  49 

racing  directly  toward  the  foot  of  the  pathway  leading  out 
of  the  valley.  She  must  have  been  seen  when  she  had 
stood  at  the  opening.     And  now 

But  there  was  not  a  second  to  lose.  She  sprang  to  a 
crouching  position  under  the  bush.  Another  shot  rang 
viciously  upon  the  still  air.  The  bullet  tore  its  way 
through  the  bush.  This  time  it  was  still  wider  of  her 
hiding  place.  But  already  she  had  begun  her  retreat — 
swiftly,  and  crouching  low. 

She  reached  the  shelter  of  the  barrier  just  as  another 
bullet  whistled  overhead.    Then  she  set  off  at  a  run. 

And  as  she  ran  she  calculated  the  chances.  She  had 
a  big  start,  and  the  horsemen  had  to  face  the  zigzag 
climb.  If  she  made  no  mistakes  there  was  little  chance 
of  their  discovering  her.  They  could  never  make  that 
climb  before  she  reached  her  pony. 

She  increased  her  pace.  Her  nerves  were  steadying. 
Strangely  her  control  was  wonderful.  There  was  no  real 
fear  in  her — only  tension.  Now  as  she  ran  down  the 
open  way  her  eyes  were  alert  for  every  landmark,  and 
her  woodcraft  was  sufficiently  practised  to  stand  her  in 
good  stead.  She  recognized  each  feature  in  the  path 
until  she  came  to  the  point  where  she  had  first  entered  it. 
In  a  moment  she  was  battling  her  way  through  the  thick 
bush,  and  the  tension  she  was  laboring  under  took  her 
through  it  in  a  fraction  of  the  time  her  first  traversing 
had  been  made.  Her  pony  was  standing  within  ten 
yards  of  the  spot  at  which  she  .had  left  him. 

She  breathed  a  great  relief.  In  a  moment  she  had  un- 
buckled the  hobbles  on  his  forelegs.  Then,  with  the 
habit  of  her  life  on  the  plains,  she  tightened  the  cinchas 
of  the  saddle.     Then  she  replaced  the  bit  in  its  mouth. 


50  THE  FORFEIT 

As  she  swung  herself  into  the  saddle  the  distant  plod 
of  hoofs  pounding  the  cattle  tracks  reached  her.  For 
one  instant  she  sat  in  doubt.  Then,  with  a  half-thought 
fear  lest  her  hard  pursuit  of  the  wounded  deer  had  left 
her  tough  broncho  spent,  she  swung  him  about  and 
vanished  like  a  ghost  into  the  gloomy  depths  of  the 
woods. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  WEAKER  VESSEL 

THE  homestead  rested  upon  the  southern  slope  of  a 
wood-crowned  hill,  which  was  merely  one  of  a  swarm  of 
hills  of  lesser  or  greater  magnitude.  Westward,  away 
in  the  distance,  the  silver  sheen  of  the  main  mountain 
range  still  continued  to  reflect  the  rainbow  tints  of  a 
radiant  sunset. 

It  was  a  homestead  to  associate  with  hands  less  than 
'prentice.  There  was  neither  imagination  nor  very  defi- 
nite purpose  in  its  planning.  It  rather  gave  the  impres- 
sion of  the  driving  of  sheer  necessity  than  the  enthusiasm 
of  effort  toward  the  achievement  of  a  heartily  conceived 
purpose.  Furthermore,  it  bore  evident  signs  of  a  desire 
to  escape  as  far  as  possible  the  burdens  of  the  life  it  rep- 
resented. 

The  squalid  two-roomed  house  was  sunk  into  the  back- 
ing to  the  sloping  hill.  Its  front  and  sides  were  of  green 
logs  and  a  mud  plaster.  Its  roof  was  of  a  primitive 
thatch,  held  secure  from  winter  storms  by  sapling  logs 
lashed  fast  across  it.  The  central  doorway  was  rilled  by 
a  rough-boarded  door,  and  the  apertures  left  for  added 
light  were  covered  with  thin  cotton  material.  They  were 
left  wide  open  in  summer,  and  in  winter  only  served  to 
shut  out  the  worst  of  the  driven  snows  and  most  of  the 
daylight. 


52  THE  FORFEIT 

The  adjacent  barn  was  of  far  greater  extent,  but  of 
considerably  less  degree.  Still,  it  was  sufficiently 
weather-proof,  which  was  all  that  could  be  reasonably 
hoped  for  by  the  toughened  creatures,  who  found  shelter 
beneath  its  crazy  roof.  Higher  up  the  slope  stood  a 
couple  of  corrals  of  sorts.  Their  position  was  at  the 
southern  extremity  of  the  woodland  crown,  their  placing 
probably  inspired  by  the  adjacency  of  the  material  re- 
quired for  their  construction. 

Below  the  house  stretched  a  sloping  patch  of  growing 
wheat,  perhaps  about  thirty  acres  in  extent.  This  was 
the  real  business  of  the  homestead,  and,  in  spite  of  the 
crazy  fencing  of  barbed  wire  about  it,  it  looked  to  be 
richly  flourishing. 

For  all  the  general  ineffectiveness  of  the  place,  how- 
ever, it  was  not  without  significance.  For  it  gave  that 
human  touch  which  at  once  breaks  up  the  overpowering 
sensation  which  never  fails  to  depress  in  the  silent  heart 
of  Nature's  immensity.  It  spoke  of  courage,  too.  The 
reckless  courage  of  early  youth,  plunging  for  the  first 
time  into  independence.  Furthermore,  it  suggested 
something  of  the  first  great  sacrifice  which  the  hot  tide 
of  love,  surging  through  youthful  veins,  is  prepared  to 
make  for  the  object  of  its  passionate  regard.  In  any  case 
it  symbolized  the  irresistible  progress  of  man's  effort  when 
pitted  against  the  passive  resistance  of  Nature's  most 
fiercely  rugged  frontiers. 

A  wonderful  harmonious  peace  reigned  over  the  scene 
which  was  bathed  in  the  light  of  a  drooping  sun.  It  was 
the  chastened  pastoral  peace,  than  which  there  is  no  more 
perfect  in  the  world.  Cattle  were  grazing  their  way 
homeward ;    the    cows    bearing  their   burden   of  laden 


THE  WEAKER  VESSEL  53 

udders  to  yield  it  for  the  benefit  and  prosperity  of  the 
community ;  the  steers  lingering  at  the  banks  of  the  mur- 
muring mountain  Stream,  or  standing  knee-deep  in  its 
waters,  their  sleek  sides  sheathed  in  rolls  of  fat,  only  wait- 
ing to  yield  up  their  humble  lives  as  their  contribution  to 
the  insatiable  demands  of  the  dominant  race. 

Two  or  three  horses  stood  adjacent  to  the  doorway  of 
the  humble  barn,  patiently  flickering  their  long,  unkempt 
tails  in  a  vain  effort  to  ward  off  the  attacks  of  swarming 
flies.  A  few  chickens  moved  about  drowsily,  just  outside 
the  hutch  which  had  been  contrived  for  their  nightly 
shelter.  While  stretched  upon  the  dusty  earth,  side  by 
side,  lay  two  great  rough-coated  dogs  slumbering  their 
hours  of  watch  and  ward  away  in  the  shade,  with  the  in- 
difference of  creatures  whose  vain  hopes  of  battle  have 
been  all  too  long  deferred. 

All  of  a  sudden  there  came  a  partial  awakening. 

Out  of  the  west,  down  the  slope  of  a  neighboring  hill 
came  a  figure  on  horseback.  It  was  moving  at  a  rapid 
gallop.  The  horses  at  the  barn  turned  about  and  raised 
their  heads  watchfully.  They  whinnied  at  the  approach. 
The  two  dogs  were  on  their  feet  startled  into  alertness, 
vain  hope  rising  once  more  in  their  fierce  hearts.  The 
hens  cackled  fussily  at  the  prospect  of  their  deferred  even- 
ing meal.  The  last  of  the  cattle  ambled  heavily  from  the 
water's  edge.  It  was  rather  like  the  obscure  movement 
of  a  mainspring,  setting  into  motion  even  the  remotest 
wheel  of  a  mechanism. 

Effie  galloped  up  to  the  house.  Nothing  of  the  gentle 
waking  her  coming  had  inspired  attracted  her  observation. 
Her  handsome  eyes  were  preoccupied,  and  their  gaze 
wandered  back  over  the  way  she  had  come,  searching  the 


54  THE  FORFEIT 

distance  with  the  minutest  care.  Finally  she  dismounted 
and  off-saddled,  turning  her  pony  loose  to  follow  the 
promptings  of  its  own  particular  requirements.  Then  she 
set  about  releasing  the  carcase  of  the  deer  upon  her  sad- 
dle, and  bore  it  away  to  a  lean-to  shed  at  the  side  of  the 
house.  Emerging  therefrom  she  picked  up  her  saddle 
and  bridle  and  took  them  into  the  house.  Then  she  took 
up  her  stand  within  the  doorway  and,  once  more,  nar- 
rowly searched  the  surrounding  hills  with  eyes  as  eager 
and  doubtful  as  they  were  beautiful. 

The  calm  of  evening  had  settled  once  more  upon  the 
place.  The  peace  of  it  all  was  superlative.  It  was  a 
peace  to  which  Erne  was  something  more  than  averse. 
She  dreaded  it.  For  all  her  two  years  of  life  in  the 
meagre  home  her  husband  had  provided  her  with,  it  re- 
quired all  her  courage  and  fortitude  to  endure  it.  The 
hills  haunted  and  oppressed  her,  and  her  only  hope  lay  in 
the  active  prosecution  of  her  work. 

She  breathed  a  profound  sigh.  There  was  relief  in  the 
expression  of  her  face.  The  drooping  corners  of  her 
mouth  and  the  tight  compression  of  her  well-formed  lips 
told  their  own  story  of  her  emotions.  She  had  passed 
through  an  anxious  time,  and  only  now  was  she  beginning 
to  feel  reassured. 

Yes.  All  was  well,  she  believed.  She  had  lost  her 
pursuers,  thanks  to  the  staunchness  of  her  pony,  and 
her  knowledge  of  the  country  about  her.  With  another 
sigh,  but  this  time  one  of  weariness,  she  left  her  door- 
way and  moved  over  to  the  barn.  There  was  still  the 
dreary  round  of  "chores"  to  which  her  life  seemed 
dedicated. 


THE  WEAKER  VESSEL  55 

A  solitary  horseman  sat  gazing  out  through  a  leafy- 
barrier  across  the  narrow  valley  of  the  little  mountain 
stream.  His  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  dejected  home- 
stead on  the  slope  of  the  hill  beyond.  He  was  be-chapped, 
and  carried  the  usual  complement  of  weapons  at  his 
waist.  His  horse  was  an  unusually  fine  creature,  and 
well  up  to  the  burden  it  was  called  upon  to  bear.  Nor 
was  that  burden  a  light  one,  for  the  man  was  both  massive 
and  muscular. 

The  watchful  eyes  were  deep  set  in  a  mahogany-hued 
setting.  It  was  a  hard  face,  brutal,  and  the  eyes  were 
narrow  and  cruel. 

For  a  long  time  he  sat  there  regarding  the  homestead. 
He  beheld  the  graceful  form  of  the  woman  as  she  moved 
swiftly  about  her  work.  Judging  from  his  expression, 
which  was  by  no  means  pleasant,  two  emotions  were 
struggling  for  dominance.  For  some  time  doubt  held 
chief  place,  but  slowly  it  yielded  to  some  more  animal 
emotion.  Furthermore  temptation  was  urging  him,  and 
more  than  once  he  lifted  his  reins,  which  became  a  sign 
of  yielding. 

But  all  these  emotions  finally  passed.  It  was  evident 
that  some  even  stronger  force  was  really  governing  him. 
For,  with  a  sharp  ejaculation  that  conveyed  every  feeling 
suggested  by  disappointment,  he  swung  his  horse  about 
and  galloped  off  in  a  southeasterly  direction — toward 
Orrville. 


It  was  past  midnight.     Efne,  flushed  with  an  unusual 

excitement,  was  gazing  up  into  her  husband's  face.     She 

as  listening  almost  breathlessly  to  the  story  he  was  tell- 


56  THE  FORFEIT 

ing  her.  The  little  living-room,  more  than  half  kitchen, 
was  bathed  in  the  yellow  light  of  a  small  tin  kerosene 
lamp.  For  the  time  at  least  her  surroundings,  the  pov- 
erty and  drudgery  of  her  life,  were  forgotten  in  the  ab- 
sorbing feelings  consuming  her. 

"  I  tell  you,  Erne,  I  was  scared — plumb  scared  when  I 
saw  what  it  was,"  Bob  Whitstone  ended  up.  "Guess 
we've  known  long  enough  the  whole  blamed  countryside 
is  haunted  by  cattle  rustlers,  but — that's  the  first  time  I've 
seen  'em,  and  I  guess  it's  the  first  time  any  one's  seen 
'em  at  work.  Say,  I'm  not  yearning  for  the  experience 
again." 

But  Erne  had  no  interest  beyond  his  story.  His  feel- 
ings on  the  matter  of  his  experience  were  of  no  concern 
whatever  at  the  moment.  There  were  other  things  in  her 
mind,  things  of  far  greater  import.  She  returned  to  the 
rocker  chair,  which  was  the  luxury  of  their  home,  and  sat 
down.  There  was  one  thing  only  in  Bob's  story  which 
mattered  to  her  just  now. 

"Ten  thousand  dollars,"  she  murmured.  "  Ten  thou- 
sand!    It's  a — fortune." 

Bob  moved  across  to  a  rough  shelf  nailed  upon  the  wall 
and  picked  up  a  pipe. 

"A  bit  limited,"  he  observed  contemptuously,  as  he 
poured  some  tobacco  dust  into  the  bowl. 

"I  was  thinking  of — ourselves." 

The  man  ceased  his  operation  to  gaze  swiftly  down 
upon  the  gently  swaying  figure  in  the  chair. 

"  What  d'you  mean,  Erne  ?  "  he  demanded  sharply. 

The  girl's  steady  eyes  were  slowly  raised  in  answer  to 
the  challenging  tone.  They  met  her  husband's  without  a 
shadow  of  hesitation. 


THE  WEAKER  VESSEL  57 

"  It  sounds  like  a  fortune  to  me,  who  have  not  handled 
a  dollar  that  I  could  spend  without  careful  thought — for 
two  years,"  she  declared  with  warmth. 

Bob  completed  the  filling  of  his  pipe.  He  did  not 
answer  for  a  few  moments,  but  occupied  himself  by- 
lighting  it  with  a  reeking  sulphur  match. 

"  That's  a  pretty  hard  remark,"  he  said  at  last,  emitting 
heavy  clouds  of  smoke  between  his  words. 

"  Is  it  ?     But — it's  just  plain  facts." 

"  I  s'pose  it  is." 

The  girl  had  permitted  her  gaze  to  wander.  It  passed 
from  her  husband's  face  to  the  deplorable  surroundings 
which  she  had  almost  grown  accustomed  to,  but  which 
now  stood  out  in  her  mind  with  an  added  sense  of  hope- 
lessness. The  lime-wash  over  the  cracked  and  broken 
plaster  which  rilled  the  gaps  between  the  logs  of  the 
walls.  The  miserable  furnishing,  much  of  it  of  purely 
home  manufacture,  thrown  up  into  hideous  relief  by  the 
few  tasteful  knickknacks  which  had  been  wedding  pres- 
ents from  her  intimate  friends  and  relatives  in  the  east. 
The  earthen  floor,  beaten  hard  and  kept  scrupulously 
swept  by  her  own  hands.  The  cook-stove  in  the  corner, 
with  its  ill-set  stovepipe  passing  out  of  a  hole  in  the  wall 
which  had  been  crudely  covered  with  tin  to  keep  out  the 
draughts  in  winter.  The  drooping  ceiling  of  cotton 
material,  which  sagged  in  great  billows  under  the  thatch 
of  the  roof.  It  was  all  deplorable  to  a  woman  who 
had  known  the  comfort  of  an  almost  luxurious  girlhood. 
Into  her  eyes  crept  a  curious  light.  It  was  half  resentful, 
half  triumphant.     It  was  wholly  absorbed. 

"  Suppose  ?  There's  no  supposition,"  she  cried  bitterly. 
"  I  have  had  the  experience  of  it  all,  the  grind.     Maybe 


58  THE  FORFEIT 

you  don't  know  what  it  is  to  a  woman,  a  girl,  to  find 
herself  cut  off  suddenly  from  all  the  little  luxuries  she  has 
always  been  used  to.  I  don't  mean  extravagances.  Just 
the  trifling  refinements  which  count  for  so  much  in  a 
young  woman's  life.  The  position  is  possible,  so  long  as 
the  hope  remains  of  their  return  later,  perhaps  fourfold. 
But  when  that  hope  no  longer  exists — I  guess  there's 
nothing  much  else  that's  worth  while." 

The  man  continued  to  smoke  on  for  some  silent  mo- 
ments. Then,  as  the  girl,  too,  remained  silent,  he  glanced 
at  her  out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes. 

"  You  gave  up  a  good  deal  for  me — for  this,"  he  said 
in  gentle  protest.  "  But  you  did  it  with  your  eyes  open 
— I  mean,  to  the  true  facts  of  my  position.  Say,  Effie, 
I  didn't  hold  you  up  for  this  thing.  I  laid  every  card  on 
the  table.  My  father  threatened  us  both,  to  our  faces,  if 
we  persisted  in  marrying.  Well,  I  guess  we  persisted, 
and  he — why,  he  just  handed  us  what  he  promised — the 
dollars  that  bought  us  this — farm.  That  was  all.  It  was 
the  last  cent  he  figured  to  pass  our  way.  You  know  all 
that,  and  you  never  squealed — then.  You  knew  what 
was  in  store.  I  mean — this."  He  flung  out  one  arm  in 
a  comprehensive  gesture.  "  You  guessed  you'd  grit 
enough  to  face  it — with  me.  We  hoped  to  win  out." 
Then  he  smiled.  "Say,  I  guess  I  haven't  given  up  a 
thing — for  you,  eh?  I  haven't  quit  the  home  of  a 
millionaire  father  where  my  year's  pocket  money  was 
more  than  the  income  of  seventy  per  cent,  of  other  folks. 
I,  too,  did  it  for  this — and  you.  Won't  you  stick  it  for 
me?" 

The  man's  appeal  was  spoken  in  low  earnest  tones. 
His  eyes  were  gentle.     But  the  girl  kept  hers  studiously 


THE  WEAKER  VESSEL  59 

turned  from  his  direction,  and  it  was  impossible  for  him 
to  read  that  which  lay  behind  them. 

Again  some  silent  moments  passed.  The  girl  was 
gently  rocking  herself.  At  last,  however,  she  drew  in  her 
feet  in  a  nervous,  purposeful  movement,  and  sat  forward. 

"  Bob,"  she  exclaimed,  and  now  there  were  earnestness 
and  kindness  in  the  eyes  that  gazed  up  at  the  man, 
"  it's  no  use  for  us  to  talk  this  way,"  she  cried.  "  I  began 
it,  and  I  ought  to  be  sorry — real  sorry.  But  I'm  not.  I 
wouldn't  have  acted  that  way  under  ordinary  circum- 
stances. But  it's  different  now,  and  it  was  your  own  talk 
made  me.  You  sneered  at  that  ten  thousand  dollars, 
which  seems  to  be  a  fortune  to  me.  Ten  thousand 
dollars ! "  she  breathed.  "  And  we  haven't  ten  dollars 
between  us  in  this — house.  Bob,  it  makes  me  mad  when 
I  think  of  it.  You  don't  care.  You  don't  worry.  All 
you  care  for  is  to  get  away  from  it  all — from  me — and 
spend  your  time  among  the  boys  in  Orrville.  You've 
been  away  ever  since  dinner  to-day,  and  now  it's  past 
midnight.  Why  ?  Why,  when  there's  a  hundred  and 
one  things  to  do  around  this  wretched  shanty?  No — you 
undertake  this  thing,  and  then — spend  every  moment  you 
can  steal — yes,  that's  the  word — steal,  hanging  around 
Ju  Penrose's  saloon.  I'm  left  to  fix  things  right  here — to 
do  the  work  which  you  have  undertaken.  Then  you  sneer 
when  I  see  a  fortune  in  that  ten  thousand  dollars  reward." 

The  girl's  swift  heat  was  not  without  effect.  She  had 
not  intended  to  accuse  in  so  straight  a  fashion.  It  was 
the  result  of  long  pent-up  bitterness,  which  never  needs 
more  than  a  careless  word  to  hurl  into  active  expression. 
Bob's  mild  expression  of  contempt  looked  to  be  about  to 
cost  him  dear. 


60  THE  FORFEIT 

A  moody  look  not  untouched  with  some  sort  oi  fear 
had  crept  into  the  man's  eyes.  Now  he  tried  to  smooth 
the  threat  of  storm  he  saw  looming.  Furthermore,  an 
uncomfortable  feeling  of  his  own  guilt  was  possessing 
him. 

"  But  what  if  it  can  be  called  a  fortune,  Effie  ?  "  he 
demanded  swiftly.  "  It  don't  concern  us.  I  don't  guess 
it's  liable  to  come  our  way." 

"Why  not?" 

The  girl's  challenge  came  short  and  sharp,  and  her 
beautiful  eyes  were  turned  upon  him  full  of  cold  regard. 

The  man  was  startled.     He  was  even  shocked. 

"  How  ?"  he  demanded.     "I  don't  get  you." 

The  girl  sprang  from  her  chair  in  a  movement  of  sup- 
pressed excitement.  She  came  toward  him,  her  eyes 
shining.  A  glorious  ruddy  tint  shone  through  the  tan- 
ning of  her  fair  cheeks.  She  was  good  to  look  at,  and 
Bob  felt  the  influence  of  her  beauty  at  that  moment  just 
as  he  had  felt  it  when,  for  her,  he  had  first  flung  every 
worldly  consideration  to  the  four  winds. 

"  Will  you  listen,  Bob  ?  Will  you  listen  to  me  while  I 
tell  you  all  that's  been  churning  around  in  my  head  ever 
since  you  told  me  of  that  reward  ?  You  must.  You 
shall.  I  have  lived  through  a  sort  of  purgatory  in  these 
hills  for  too  long  not  to  make  my  voice  heard  now — now 
when  there's  a  chance  of  making  our  lives  more  tolerable. 
Oh,  I've  had  a  day  while  you've  been  away.  It's  been 
a  day  such  as  in  my  craziest  moments  I've  never  even 
dreamed  of.  Bob,  I've  discovered  what  they've  all  been 
trying  to  discover  for  years.  I've  found  Lightfoot's 
camp ! " 

"And  then?" 


THE  WEAKER  VESSEL  61 

The  girl's  enthusiasm  left  her  husband  caught  in  a 
wave  of  apprehension-.  He  saw  with  a  growing  sense  of 
horror  the  meaning  of  that  sudden  revolt.  This  was  dis- 
played in  his  manner.  Nor  was  Erne  unobservant  of  it. 
Nor  unresentful. 

She  shrugged  her  perfect  shoulders  with  assumed 
unconcern. 

"  That  reward — those  ten  thousand  dollars  are  mine — 
ours — if  I  choose.     And — I  do  choose." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  firmness,  the  decision  in 
her  final  words.  They  came  deliberate  and  hard,  and 
they  roused  the  man  to  prompt  and  sharp  denial. 

"  You— do— not." 

He  was  no  longer  propped  against  the  table.  He  was 
no  longer  gentle.  He  stood  erect  and  angry,  and  their 
regard  was  eye  to  eye.  But  even  so  there  was  no  dis- 
puting the  woman's  dominance  of  personality.  The  man's 
eyes,  for  all  their  anger,  conveyed  not  a  tithe  of  the  other's 
decision.  His  whole  attitude  was  subjective  to  the  poise 
of  the  woman's  beautiful  head,  her  erect,  sculptured  shoul- 
ders. Her  measuring  eyes  were  full  of  a  fine  revolt. 
There  was  nothing  comparable  between  them — except 
their  anger. 

"  Who  can  stop  me  ?    You  ?  " 

The  scornful  challenge  rang  sharply  through  the  little 
room.  Then  a  silence  fraught  with  intense  moment  fol- 
lowed upon  its  heels. 

The  man  nodded.  His  movement  was  followed  by 
Erne's  mocking  laugh. 

Perhaps  Bob  realized  the  uselessness,  the  danger  of 
retaining  such  an  attitude.  Perhaps  his  peculiar  nature 
was  unequal  to  the  continuous  effort  the  position  called  for. 


62  THE  FORFEIT 

In  a  moment  he  seemed  to  shrink  before  those  straight 
gazing  eyes,  and  the  light  of  purpose  behind  them. 
When  he  finally  spoke  a  curious,  almost  pleading  tone 
blended  with  the  genuine  horror  in  his  words. 

"  No,  no,  Effie,  you  can't — you  daren't !"  he  cried  pas- 
sionately. "  Do  you  know  what  you're  doing  ?  Do  you 
know  what  that  reward  means  to  you — to  us  ?  Look  at 
your  hands.  They're  clean,  and  soft,  and  white.  Say, 
girl,  that's  blood  money,  blood  money  that'll  surely  stain 
them  with  a  crimson  you'll  never  wash  off  'em  all  your 
life.  It's  blood  money.  Man's  blood.  Human  blood. 
Just  the  same  as  runs  through  our  veins.  Oh,  say,  girl, 
I've  no  sort  of  use  for  rustlers.  They're  crooks,  and 
maybe  murderers.  Guess  they're  everything  you  can 
think  of,  and  a  sight  more.  But  they're  men,  and  their 
blood's  hot,  warm  blood  the  same  as  yours  and  mine. 
And  you  reckon  to  chaffer  that  blood  for  a  price.  You're 
going  to  sell  it — for  a  price.  You're  going  to  do  more. 
Yes.  You're  going  to  wreck  a  woman's  conscience  for 
life  for  those  filthy,  blood-soaked  dollars.  The  price  ? 
Effie,  things  are  mighty  hard  with  us.  Maybe  they're 
harder  with  you  than  me.  But  I  just  can't  believe  we've 
dropped  so  low  we  can  sell  the  life  blood  of  even  a — mur- 
derer. I  can't  believe  it.  I  just  can't.  That's  all.  Tell 
'em,  Effie.  Tell  'em  all  you  know  and  have  discovered  if 
you  will.  Tell  'em  in  the  cause  of  justice.  But  barter 
your  soul  and  conscience  for  filthy  blood  money — I — 
bah !     It  makes  me  turn  sick  to  think  that  way." 

But  Effie  was  in  no  mood  to  listen  to  the  dictates  of 
squeamish  principles  from  a  man  who  lacked  the  spirit 
and  power — the  will  to  raise  her  out  of  the  mire  of 
penury  into  which  he  had  helped  to  plunge  her.     The 


THE  WEAKER  VESSEL  63 

hours  of  dreary,  hopeless  labor ;  the  weeks  and  months 
of  dismal  and  grinding  poverty  had  sunk  deeply  into  her 
soul.  No  price  was  too  high  to  pay  to  escape  these 
things.  In  a  moment  her  reply  was  pouring  forth  in  a 
passionate  torrent. 

"  Blood  money  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Bob,  you're  crazier  than 
Td  have  thought.  Where's  the  difference  ?  I  mean  be- 
tween handin'  these  folks  over  to  justice  for  justice  sake, 
and  taking  the  reward  the  folks  who're  most  to  benefit 
by  it  are  ready  to  hand  out  to  me?  Say,  you  can't  talk 
that  way,  Bob.  You  can't  just  do  it.  Aren't  the  folks 
who  carry  out  the  justice  in  the  land  paid  for  it — from 
the  biggest  judge  to  the  fellow  who  handles  the  levers  of 
the  electric  chair?  Doesn't  the  country  hand  out  thou- 
sands of  dollars  every  year  for  the  punishment  of  offenders, 
whether  it's  for  the  shedding  of  their  life  blood,  or  merely 
their  heart's  blood  in  the  cruel  horrors  of  a  penitentiary  ? 
Do  you  think  I'm  going  to  hand  out  my  secret  to  a  bunch 
of  cattlemen  for  their  benefit  and  profit,  and  reap  no  com- 
fort from  it  for  myself  in  the  miserable  life  I'm  condemned 
to  endure  ?  Your  scruples  are  just  crazy.  They're  worse. 
They're  selfish.  You'd  rather  see  me  drudging  all  the 
best  moments  of  my  life  away,  so  you  can  lounge  around 
Ju  Penrose's  saloon  spending  dollars  you've  no  right  to, 
than  risk  your  peace  of  mind  on  an  honest — yes,  honest — 
transaction  that's  going  to  give  me  a  little  of  the  comfort 
that  you  haven't  the  grit  to  help  me  to  yourself." 

The  girl  was  carried  away  with  the  force  of  her  own 
purpose  and  craving.  Every  word  she  said  was  meant 
from  the  bottom  of  her  soul.  There  was  not  a  shadow  of 
yielding.  She  had  no  illusions.  For  two  years  her  heart 
had  been  hardening  to  its  present  condition,  and  she 


64  THE  FORFEIT 

would  not  give  up  one  tittle  of  the  chance  that  now 
opened  out  before  her  hungry  eyes. 

Bob  was  clay  in  her  hands.  He  was  clay  in  any  hands 
sufficiently  dominating.  He  knew  from  the  moment  he 
had  delivered  his  appeal,  and  he  had  heard  only  the  tones 
of  her  reply,  that  it  was  he  who  must  yield  or  complete 
irrevocably  the  barrier  which  had  been  steadily  growing 
up  between  them.  Just  for  a  moment  the  weakly,  obsti- 
nate thought  had  occurred  of  flinging  everything  to  the 
winds  and  of  denying  her  once  more  with  all  the  force  at 
his  command.  But  the  moment  passed.  It  fled  before 
the  charm  of  her  presence,  and  the  memory  of  the  love 
which  he  was  incapable  of  shutting  out  of  his  heart.  He 
knew  he  was  right,  and  she  was  utterly  wrong.  But  he 
knew,  equally  well,  from  her  words  and  attitude,  that  it 
was  he  who  must  give  way,  or 

He  shook  his  head  with  a  negative  movement  which 
Effie  was  quick  enough  to  realize  meant  yielding.  She 
wanted  him  to  yield.  It  would  simplify  all  her  purpose. 
She  desired  that  he  should  participate  in  the  transaction. 

"You'll  regret  it,  Effie,"  he  said,  in  his  usual  easy 
tones.  "You'll  regret  it  so  you'll  hate  to  think  of  this 
moment  all  the  rest  of  your  life.  It's  not  you  talking, 
my  dear,  it's  just — the  experience  you've  had  to  go 
through.  Can't  you  see?  You've  never  been  like  this 
before.  And  it  isn't  you.  Say,  I'd  give  my  right  hand 
if  you'd  quit  the  whole  thing." 

But  the  girl's  resolution  was  unwavering. 

"  You — still  refuse — to  countenance  it  ?  "  she  de- 
manded. 

Again  Bob  shook  his  head.  But  now  he  moved  away 
and  struck  a  match  to  relight  his  pipe. 


THE  WEAKER  VESSEL  65 

"No,"  he  said.  Then  he  slowly  puffed  out  great 
clouds  of  smoke.  "  No,  my  dear,  if  you're  bent  on  it." 
Then  he  moved  to  the  cook-stove  and  supported  one  foot 
upon  it. 

"Say — you  guess  I'm  selfish.  You  guess  I  haven't 
acted  as  I  ought  to  help  push  our  boat  along.  You 
reckon  I've  become  a  sort  of  saloon-loafing  bum.  Guess 
you  sort  of  think  I'm  just  about  the  limit.  Well,  maybe 
I'm  nothing  to  shriek  about.  However,  I've  told  you 
all  I  feel.  I've  told  you  what  you're  going  to  feel — later. 
Meanwhile  it's  up  to  me  to  help  you  all  I  know.  Tell 
me  the  whole  thing,  and  I'll  do  the  business  for  you.  I'll 
see  Dug  McFarlane  for  you,  and  fix  things.  But  it's  on 
one  condition." 

"What  is  it?" 

Something  of  the  coldness  had  passed  from  the  girl's 
eyes.  She  was  smiling  because  she  had  achieved  her 
purpose. 

"  Why — just  this.  That  I  don't  touch  one  single  dollar 
of  the  price  you're  to  receive  for  those  poor  devils'  blood. 
That's  all." 

Just  for  a  moment  a  dull  flush  surged  up  under  the 
tan  of  the  girl's  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  sparkled  ominously. 
Then  she  returned  to  her  rocker  with  great  deliberation. 

"  You're  crazy,  Bob,"  she  said  frigidly,  but  without  any 
other  display.  "  Still — just  sit  around,  and — I'll  tell  you 
it  all." 

And  while  the  man  listened  to  the  story  of  his  wife's 
adventures  his  mind  went  back  to  the  scene  in  Ju  Pen- 
rose's saloon,  and  the  denial  he  had  flung  so  heatedly  at 
that  philosophic  cynic. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  HANGING  BEE 

DUG  McFarlane  was  a  picturesque  creature.  He 
was  big  in  height  and  girth.  He  was  also  big  in  mind. 
And,  which  was  much  more  important  to  the  people  of  the 
Orrville  ranching  world,  big  in  purse.  He  was  grizzled 
and  gray,  and  his  eyes  beamed  out  of  a  setting  which 
was  surely  made  for  such  beaming;  a  setting  which 
possessed  no  sharp  angles  or  disfiguring  hollows,  but 
only  the  healthy  tissue  of  a  well-nourished  and  whole- 
some-living man  in  middle  life. 

As  he  sat  his  horse,  beside  his  station  foreman,  gazing 
out  at  the  broken  line  of  foothills  which  marked  the  ap- 
proach to  the  barrier  of  mountains  cutting  against  the 
blue,  he  seemed  to  display  in  his  bearing  something  of 
that  dominating  personality  which  few  successful  men  are 
entirely  without.  All  about  them  lay  the  heavy-railed 
corrals  of  a  distant  out-station.  Just  behind  stood  the 
rough  shanty,  which  was  the  bunkhouse  for  the  cow- 
hands employed  in  this  region.  The  doctor  was  still 
within,  tending  the  grievously  injured  man  who  had  been 
so  badly  wounded  in  the  previous  night's  raid  by  the 
rustlers. 

For  the  time  Dug's  beaming  eyes  were  shadowed  with 
a  concern  that  was  half  angry  and  wholly  depressed. 
They  searched   the  rolling  grass-land  until  the  distance 


THE  HANGING  BEE  6; 

was  swallowed  up  by  the  barrier  of  hills.  He  was  seek- 
ing one  reassuring  glimpse  of  the  black,  hornless  herd 
whose  pastures  these  were.  But  only  disappointment 
met  him  on  every  side.  The  beautiful,  sleek,  Aberdeen- 
Angus  herd,  which  was  his  joy  and  pride,  had  vanished. 
They  had  gone,  he  knew.  They  had  gone  the  same  way 
that,  during  the  last  five  years,  hundreds  of  head  of  his 
stock  had  gone.     It  was  the  last  straw. 

•'  Say,  Lew  Hank,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  of  something 
approaching  an  emotion  he  possessed  no  other  means  of 
displaying,  "it's  beat  me  bad.  It's  beat  me  so  bad  I 
don't  seem  able  to  think  right.  We'd  a  hundred  head 
running  on  this  station.  As  fine  a  bunch  as  ever  were 
bred  from  the  old  country's  strain.  I  just  feel  that  mad 
I  could  set  right  in  to  break  things." 

Then,  after  a  long  pause  during  which  the  station  fore- 
man waited  silent : 

"  And  only  last  night,  while  these  guys  was  raising  the 
mischief  right  here,  I  was  setting  around  doping  out  big 
talk,  and  raising  a  mighty  big  wad  for  the  round-up  of 
the  whole  darnation  gang.  Can  you  beat  it  ?  I'm  sore. 
Sore  as  hell.  Say,  tell  it  me  again.  I  don't  seem  to  have 
it  clear." 

He  passed  one  great  muscular  hand  across  his  moist 
forehead,  and  the  gesture  was  rather  one  of  helplessness. 

Lew  Hank  regarded  him  with  measuring  eyes.  He 
knew  him  so  well.  In  the  ten  years  and  more  he  had 
worked  for  him  he  had  studied  his  every  mood.  .  This 
phase  in  the  great  cattleman's  character  was  something 
new,  something  rather  startling.  Dug's  way  was  usually 
volcanic.  It  was  hot  and  fierce  for  a  while,  generally  to 
be  followed  by  a  hearty  laugh,  rather  like  the  passing  of 


68  THE  FORFEIT 

a  summer  storm.  But  this,  in  Lew's  opinion,  was  a  dis- 
play of  weakness.  A  sign  he  neither  liked  nor  respected. 
The  truth  was  Dug  McFarlane  had  been  hit  in  a  direction 
of  which  his  subordinate  had  no  understanding.  That 
herd  of  Aberdeen- Angus  cattle  had  been  his  plaything. 
His  hobby.  He  had  been  devoted  to  it  in  a  way  that 
would  have  been  absurd  to  any  one  but  a  cattleman. 
Hank  decided  this  unaccustomed  weakness  must  be 
nipped  in  the  bud. 

"  Say,  boss,  it  ain't  no  use  in  squealin',"  he  grumbled, 
in  the  hard  tones  of  a  man  who  yields  to  no  feelings  of 
sympathy.  His  weather-stained  face  was  set  and  ugly 
in  its  expression.  "  Wher's  the  use  in  it  anyway  ?  "  he 
demanded.  "  Get  a  look  around.  There's  miles  of  terri- 
tory, an'  all  of  it  runs  into  them  blamed  hills.  I  got  three 
boys  with  me.  They're  right  boys,  too.  I  don't  guess 
there's  a  thing  you  or  me  could  tell  'em  'bout  their  work. 
Not  a  thing.  Day  and  night  one  of  'em's  on  grazin' 
guard.  Them  beasties  ain't  never  left  to  trail  off  into  the 
hills.  Wal,  I  guess  that's  all  we  ken  do — sure.  Say, 
you  can't  hold  up  a  gang  of  ten  an'  more  toughs  with  a 
single  gun  in  the  dead  o'  night,  'specially  with  a  hole  in 
your  guts  same  as  young  Syme's  had  bored  into  his.  I 
ain't  ast  once,  nor  twice,  to  hev  them  beasties  run  into 
the  corrals  o'  nights,  and  fed  hay,  same  as  in  winter. 
I've  ast  it  fifty  times.  It's  bin  up  to  you,  boss.  So  I  say 
it's  no  use  in  squealin'." 

Hank  spat  over  his  horse's  shoulder,  and  his  thin  lips 
closed  with  a  snap.  He  was  a  lean  forceful  prairieman 
who  possessed,  as  he  would  himself  have  said,  no  parlor 
tricks.  Dug  McFarlane,  for  all  his  wealth,  for  all  he  had 
been    elected   president   of  the  Western   Union   Cattle 


THE  HANGING  BEE  69 

Breeders'  Association  three  years  in  succession,  was  no 
more  to  him  than  any  other  employer  who  paid  wages 
for  work  loyally  performed. 

Dug  regarded  his  foreman  with  close  attention.  He 
ignored  the  man's  rough  manner.  But,  nevertheless,  it 
was  not  without  effect. 

"  And  the  other  boys  ?  " 

"  Was  dead  asleep  in  the  bunkhouse — same  as  me, 
What  'ud  you  have?    They  ain't  sheep  dogs." 

Dug  took  no  umbrage. 

"  And  they're  out  on  the  trail — right  now?" 

"  Sure.  Same  as  we  should  be,  'stead  o'  wastin'  hot 
air  around  here.  Say,  I  guess  you're  feelin'  sore.  But 
I  don't  guess  your  feelin's  is  a  circumstance  to  mine, 
boss.  You  ain't  bin  beat  to  your  face  by  this  lousy  gang. 
I  have.  An'  say,  I'm  yearnin' — jest  gaspin' — to  wipe  out 
the  score.  I  don't  sort  o'  care  a  bit  for  your  loss.  That 
ain't  my  funeral.  But  they've  beat  me  plumb  out — same 
as  if  I  was  some  sucker  who  ain't  never  roped  an'  branded 
a  three-year-old  steer  since  I  was  pupped.  Are  you  comin' 
along  ?  They  struck  out  northwest.  We  got  that,  an' 
the  boys  is  follerin'  hard  on  their  trail.  It'll  be  better'n 
squealin'  around  here." 

There  could  be  no  doubt  about  the  man's  feelings. 
They  were  displayed  in  every  word  he  spoke.  In  every 
glance  of  his  fierce  eyes.  Dug  approved  him.  His  man- 
ners were  nothing.  Lew  was  probably  the  most  capable 
cattleman  in  his  service. 

He  was  about  to  follow  his  foreman  who  had  swung 
his  horse  about  to  set  off  northward,  when  he  abruptly 
flung  out  an  arm,  pointing. 

"  That  one  of  your  boys — coming  in  ?    Maybe " 


yo  THE  FORFEIT 

Lew  screwed  up  his  eyes  in  the  sunlight.  His  reply 
came  in  a  moment. 

11  Maybe — nuthin'.  That  ain't  one  of  my  boys."  Then, 
after  a  brief,  considering  pause,  in  which  he  narrowly  ex- 
amined the  distant  horseman's  outfit :  "  Sort  o'  rec'nize 
him,  too.  Likely  he's  that  bum  guy  with  the  dandy  wife 
way  up  on  Butte  Creek.  Whitstone,  ain't  it?  Feller 
with  swell  folks  way  down  east,  an'  who  guesses  the  on'y 
sort  o'  farmin'  worth  a  cuss  is  done  in  Ju  Penrose's  saloon. 
That's  him  sure,"  he  added,  as  the  man  drew  nearer. 
Then  he  went  on  musingly.  "  I  guess  he's  got  a  lot  to 
dope  out.  Say,  them  guys  must  have  passed  near  by  his 
shanty." 


Bob  Whitstone  reined  his  pony  up  with  a  jerk.  He 
was  on  a  mission  that  inspired  no  other  emotion  than 
that  of  repulsion  and  self-loathing.  And  these  things 
found  reflection  in  his  good-looking  face. 

He  glanced  swiftly  from  one  to  the  other  as  he  con- 
fronted the  burly  rancher  and  his  station  foreman.  The 
latter  he  did  not  know,  nor  was  he  interested  in  him. 
The  man  he  had  come  to  see  was  Dug  McFarlane,  who 
claimed  from  him,  as  he  did  from  every  man  in  the  dis- 
trict, something  in  the  nature  of  respect. 

"Guess  you'll  remember  me,  sir,"  he  began,  in  his  easy, 
refined  tones.  "  My  name  is  Whitstone — Bob  Whitstone. 
You  granted  me  certain  grazing  rights  awhile  back.  It 
was  some  two  years  ago.  Maybe  you'll  remember.  You 
did  it  to  help  me  out.  Anyway,  I  came  over  to  see  you 
this  morning  because — I  must.  If  you  can  spare  half  an 
hour    I   want    to    see    you    privately.     It's — important. 


THE  HANGING  BEE  71 

You've  been  robbed  last  night,  and — it's  about  them. 
The  gang,  I  mean." 

His  pony  was  still  blowing.  Bob  had  ridden  hard. 
He  had  first  ridden  into  Orrville,  and  then  followed  the 
rancher  out  here.  He  was  leaning  over  in  the  saddle 
lounging  upon  the  horn  of  it.  His  eyes  were  gazing 
curiously,  speculatively  at  the  figure  of  the  man  who 
ruled  the  local  cattle  industry.  He  was  calculating  in 
his  own  way  what  might  be  the  effect  of  the  news  he 
had  to  impart.  What  estimate  this  big  man — and  Bob 
knew  him  to  be  a  big  man — would  have  of  him  when  he 
had  told  his  news  and  claimed  the — blood  money? 
With  each  moment  he  shrank  smaller  and  smaller  in 
his  own  estimation. 

Dug  regarded  him  steadily. 

"  You've  got  news  of  them  ?  " 

Bob  nodded,  and  glanced  meaningly  in  the  direction  of 
Lew  Hank. 

"  I've  seen  'em.     But — it's  more  than  that." 

The  rancher  turned  quickly  upon  his  foreman. 

"  Say,  just  get  along  into  the  shack  there,  and  see  how 
the  Doc's  making  with  young  Syme.  I  need  a  talk  with 
Whitstone." 

It  was  not  without  obvious  and  resentful  reluctance 
that  Lew  Hank  withdrew.  Even  his  hardihood,  how- 
ever, was  unequal  to  resisting  so  direct  an  order  from 
his  chief. 

The  two  men  watched  him  out  of  earshot.  Then  Dug, 
with  almost  precipitate  haste,  turned  back  to  his  visitor. 

"  Now,  sir,  I'm  ready  to  hear  anything  you  need  to 
tell  me." 

But  Bob  was  thinking  of  Ju  Penrose  as  he  had  thought 


72  THE  FORFEIT 

of  him  many  times  since  he  had  listened  and  yielded  to 
Erne's  appeal.  Every  man  has  his  price.  Bob  knew 
now  that  he,  like  the  rest,  had  his  price.  That  price  a 
woman  had  set  for  him.  Ju  was  right — hatefully  right. 
Well,  he  would  now  refuse  to  be  robbed  of  one  cent  of  it. 

He  looked  up  sharply  as  the  other  made  his  demand. 

"  You're  offering  ten  thousand  dollars  reward  for  the 
capture  of  the  Lightfoot  gang,  Mr.  McFarlane  ?  " 

"  That's  so." 

The  rancher's  regard  had  deepened.  There  was  a 
curious  light  shining  in  his  blue  eyes.  It  was  half  specu- 
lative, half  suggestive  of  growing  excitement.  It  was 
wholly  full  of  a  burning  interest. 

"  Say,  I'd  just  like  to  know  how  I  stand."  Bob  laughed 
that  short  hard  laugh  which  bears  no  trace  of  mirth.  "  You 
see,  I  can  put  you  wise.  I  can  lead  you  right  on  to  their 
camp  so  you  can  get  'em — while  they're  sleeping,  or  any 
other  old  way.  Oh,  yes,  I'm  ready  to  play  my  part  right 
up  to  the  limit.  It  don't  matter  a  thing.  I'm  not  just 
here  to  tell  you  about  things.  I'm  here  to  lead  you  to 
that  camp,  and  take  a  hand  in  the  hanging  when  you  get 
busy.  You  see,  I'm  a  whole  hogger.  But  I  want  to  know 
how  things  stand  about  that  ten  thousand  dollar  reward. 
Do  I  get  it  ?  If  I  get  shot  up  does  my  wife  get  it  ?  And 
when  it's  paid,  do  you  shout  about  it  ?  Does  the  gang 
down  Orrville  way  need  to  know  who  it  was  they  forgot 
to  hand  the  name  of  Judas  to  when  he  was  christened  ? 
I  don't  care  a  cuss  on  my  own  account.     It's " 

But  Dug  McFarlane  broke  in  upon  the  bitter  raillery. 
He  had  no  thought  for  the  man  or  his  feelings.  Just  for 
one  moment  it  seemed  to  him  that  some  sort  of  miracle 
had  happened.     And  his  every  thought  and  feeling  was 


THE  HANGING  BEE  73 

absorbed  in  it.  Here,  after  five  years  of  vain  effort,  here, 
after  five  years  of  depredations  which  had  almost  threat- 
ened the  cattle  industry  in  the  district  with  complete 
crippling,  here  was  a  man  who  could  lead  them  to  the 
raiders'  hiding-place,  could  show  them  how  the  hanging 
they  all  so  cordially  desired  could  be  brought  about.  It 
was  stupendous.     It  was — yes,  it  was  miraculous. 

His  first  impulse  had  been  to  give  way  to  the  excite- 
ment which  stirred  him,  but  he  restrained  himself. 

"  Ten  thousand  dollars  will  be  paid  by  me  to  the  man, 
or  his  nominee,  privately,  if  his  information  leads  to  the 
hanging  of  this  gang.  Say,  boy,  we  ain't  goin'  to  split 
hairs  or  play  any  low  games  on  this  lay  out.  I'm  a  rich 
man,  an'  ten  thousand  dollars  ain't  a  circumstance  so  we 
break  up  this  gang.  If  we  only  get  one  of  'em  or  part  of 
'em,  the  man  who  shows  me  their  hiding-place,  and  leads 
me  to  it,  that  man — or  his  wife — gets  my  ten  thousand 
dollars.  You  can  have  it  in  writing.  But  my  word  goes 
any  old  time.  Now  you  can  get  busy  and  hand  me  the 
proposition." 

The  steady  eyes,  the  emphatic  tones  of  this  big, 
straight-dealing  rancher  silenced  the  last  doubt  in  Bob's 
lesser  mind.  He  was  out  to  do  this  dirty  work  with  all 
his  might  in  the  interest  of  the  woman  who  had  inspired 
it.  But  he  had  scarcely  been  prepared  for  such  simple 
methods  as  this  man  displayed.  He  had  felt  that  it  was 
for  him  to  barter,  to  scheme,  to  secure  the  dollars  Effie 
coveted.  A  deep  sigh  escaped  him.  It  may  have  been 
relief.  It  may  have  been  of  regret  that  he  must  stand 
before  so  straight-dealing  a  personality  claiming  his  thirty 
pieces  of  silver. 

He  passed  one  hand  across  his  perspiring  brow  and 


74  THE  FORFEIT 

thrust  his  prairie  hat  farther  back  upon  his  head.  He 
would  have  preferred,  however,  to  have  drawn  it  down 
over  his  eyes  to  escape  the  searching  gaze  from  the  honest 
depths  of  the  other's.  Suddenly,  with  a  gesture  of  impa- 
tience, he  began  to  talk  rapidly. 

"It's  no  use,  Mr.  McFarlane,  I  hate  this  rotten  work," 
he  cried  out.  "  I — I  hate  it  so  bad  I  could  just  rather  bite 
my  tongue  out  than  tell  you  the  things  I've  got  to.     It's 

rotten.     I  don't  know Say,  you  don't  know  me, 

and  I  don't  guess  you  care  a  curse  anyway.  But  I  was 
brought  up  in  a  city  and  taught  to  believe  things  were  a 
deal  better  than  I've  lately  come  to  think  they  are.  Psha ! 
These  fellers  have  got  to  be  hanged  when  and  where  we 
get  them.  But  it  hurts  me  bad  to  think  that  I've  got  to 
take  dollars  for  handing  you  their  lives.  Oh,  that  don't 
tell  you  a  thing  either.  You'd  say  I  don't  need  to  take 
'em.  But  I  do.  I  got  to  take  those  dollars,  if  they  blister 
my  hands  and  burn  the  bones  inside  'em.  I've  got  to 
have  'em,  and  I'd  like  to  burn  'em,  every  blazing  one. 
But  I've  got  to  have  'em.  Say,  I'll  be  paid  on  the  nail 
when  the  job's  done  ?  If  I  get  shot  up  the  money'll  be 
paid  to  my  wife  ?  Will  you  give  me  your  word,  sir  ? 
Your  word  of  honor?" 

"  My  word  of  honor." 

"  Say,  then  come  right  back  with  me  to  my  shanty — 
no,  best  not.  We'll  ride  back  to  Orrville,  and  I'll  hand 
you  all  I  know  as  we  go.  I  can  quit  you  before  we  reach 
the  township.  Then  you  can  hustle  the  crowd  together 
and  I'll  be  waiting  ready  at  my  shack  to  play  my  part — 
the  dirty  rotten  Judas  racket." 

11  Judas  betrayed  his — Master  and  Friend.  Are  these 
people  your  friends?    Is  Lightfoot  your  master?" 


THE  HANGING  BEE  75 

"  Heavens !  What  d'you  take  me  for — a  rustler  ?  " 
"Then  quit  your  crazy  talk  of  Judas.  Your  duty's 
plumb  clear.  Your  duty's  to  hand  these  folks,  these 
bandits,  into  our  hands.  The  money's  a  matter  of — 
choice.  I'll  just  hand  my  man  a  word  or  two,  and  we'll 
get  back  Orrville  way." 


It  was  past  midnight  when  Bob  took  up  a  position 
squatting  on  the  sill  of  his  own  doorway.  Standing  close 
behind  him,  leaning  against  the  rough  casing,  Effie 
looked  down  upon  his  huddled  figure.  Her  eyes  were 
alight  with  a  power  of  suppressed  excitement.  The  blood 
was  surging  through  her  young  veins,  and  every  nerve 
was  tense  with  the  strain  of  waiting,  of  anticipation. 

But  her  emotions  were  by  no  means  shared  by  her  hus- 
band. For  all  her  beauty  and  woman's  charm  she  was 
different,  utterly  different  from  him.  She  had  been  brought 
up  to  the  understanding  that  she  would  have  to  make  her 
own  way  in  the  world.  All  her  parents  had  been  able  to 
do  for  her  was  to  see  that  she  was  as  fully  equipped  for 
the  adventure  of  life  as  their  limited  means  would  permit. 
Those  means  would  die  when  her  chief  parent  died,  and 
the  style  in  which  they  had  lived  left  no  margin  for 
saving. 

So,  with  cool  calculation,  Effte  had  set  about  her  life's 
effort.  Nor  had  she  considered  herself  unsuccessful  in  the 
first  spreading  of  her  maiden  wings.  A  millionaire's  son ! 
It  was  a  splendid  match.  It  had  met  with  the  entire  ap- 
proval of  her  family. 

Then  had  come  disillusionment.  A  determined  opposi- 
tion from  Bob's  father.     She  had  been  urged  to  break  off 


76  THE  FORFEIT 

the  engagement.  She  even  intended  to  do  so.  But  some- 
how she  had  miscalculated  the  nature  which  her  education 
had  been  powerless  to  eradicate.  She  realized  at  last 
when  the  demands  of  her  campaign  made  themselves 
heard,  that  there  was  something  she  had  hitherto  com- 
pletely ignored.  There  was  the  woman's  heart  of  her. 
She  had  most  absurdly  fallen  in  love  with  this  first  step- 
ping-stone toward  the  goal  of  her  ambition.  It  was  the 
absurd  uncalculating  love  of  extreme  youth.  But  it  was 
sufficiently  impetuous  to  flout  all  the  reason  which  her 
training  and  upbringing  had  been  calculated  to  inspire 
her  with. 

The  rest  followed  in  natural  sequence,  and  now,  after 
two  years  of  married  penury,  she  was  ready  to  seize  any 
straw  which  chance  flung  in  her  way  as  a  means  of  salving 
that  ambition  which  she  now  saw,  with  more  perfectly 
clear  vision,  was  completely  upon  the  rocks. 

Now,  in  her  mind,  there  were  only  three  matters  of 
concern.  Would  Dug  McFarlane  come?  Would  they 
succeed  in  capturing  this  Lightfoot  gang?  Would 
she  get  those  ten  thousand  dollars,  which  appeared  so 
vast  a  sum  to  eyes  only  accustomed  to  dwelling  upon 
cents  ? 

Bob  was  silent.  His  whole  aspect  seemed  to  have 
undergone  a  complete  change.  He  had  returned  to  her 
with  the  story  of  his  interview  with  Dug  McFarlane.  He 
had  returned  to  her  with  the  assurance  that  he  had  sold 
his  conscience,  his  honor,  at  her  bidding,  and  he  hoped 
she  was  satisfied.  Since  then  he  had  wrapped  himself  in 
a  moody  silence  which  had  defied  her  utmost  effort  to 
break  down. 

The  horses  stood  ready  saddled  in  the  barn.     Effie  was 


THE  HANGING  BEE  77 

clad  in  her  riding  suit.  As  yet  the  moon  had  not  risen 
to  reduce  the  starlit  magnificence  of  the  velvet  summer 
night  sky.  Nor  was  there  any  sound  to  warn  them  that 
the  hours  of  suspense  were  nearly  over. 

Finally,  Effie  could  endure  the  silence  no  longer.  Her 
dark  eyes  were  intently  gazing  down  upon  the  bowed 
figure  of  the  man.  They  were  hard  with  every  bitter 
woman's  emotion.  She  was  full  of  a  fierce,  hot  resent- 
ment against  the  man  who  could  so  obstinately  resist  the 
spirit  of  her  longing. 

"  Bob,"  she  cried  at  last,  all  restraint  completely  giving 
way,  "  do  you  know  what  I  could  do  just  now  more  will- 
ingly than  anything  else  in  the  world  ?  I  could  thrust 
out  my  foot  and  spurn  you  with  it  as  you  might  any 
surly  cur  which  barred  your  way.  I  tell  you  I'm  hot  with 
every  feeling  of  contempt  for  your  crazy  attitude.  You 
dare  to  set  yourself  and  your  moral  scruples  between  my 
welfare  and  the  miserable  life  you've  condemned  me  to. 
Your  moral  scruples.  Were  there  ever  such  things? 
Morals  ?  Ju  Penrose's  saloon  day  and  night — for  you. 
The  sluttish  drudgery  of  this  wretched  place  for  me.  Then 
you  dare  to  place  your  conscience  before  my — comfort." 

"Do  I?" 

The  man  did  not  look  up.  His  brooding  eyes  were  on 
'.he  sky-line  to  the  southeast. 

"  I've  done  as  you  needed.  I've  arranged  everything 
with  the — hangman.  You're  going  to  touch  those  pleas- 
ant dollars.     What  more  are  you  asking  me?" 

H  What  more  ?  Yes,  you've  done  these  things  because 
I've  driven  you  to  them.  You?  You'd  rather  see  me 
sitting  around  here  starving,  a  worn  wreck  of  a  woman, 
than  lend  a  willing  hand  to  bettering  our  lot.     Oh,  yes, 


78  THE  FORFEIT 

you've  done  these  things,  and — I  hate  you  for  the  way 
you've  done  them." 

The  man  sat  up.  He  shifted  his  position  so  that  he 
could  gaze  up  at  the  splendid  creature  standing  over  him. 

"  You  don't  hate  me  worse  than  I  hate  myself,  Effie," 
he  said  with  an  exasperating  lack  of  emotion.  "  Say,  you 
feel  like  kicking  me.  You  feel  like  treating  me  like  a 
surly  cur.  Well,  I  guess  you're  welcome.  I  don't  guess 
there's  a  thing  you  can  do  that  way  can  hurt  me  worse 
than  you've  done  already."  Then  he  smiled.  And  his 
smile  was  more  maddening  to  the  woman  than  his  words. 
11  Don't  worry  a  thing.  You're  going  to  get  your  dollars 
if  there's  anything  I  can  do  to  help  you,  and  when  you've 
got  'em — why,  if  the  merciful  God  we've  both  been 
brought  up  to  believe  in  is  all  we  believe  Him,  I  shan't 
be  around  to  watch  you  dirtying  your  hands  with  them." 

Then  with  a  swift,  alert  movement  he  raised  a  warning 
hand. 

"  H'sh ! " 

For  some  seconds  they  remained  listening.  Far  away 
to  the  southeast  a  low  murmuring  note  came  over  the  low 
hills.  The  girl  remained  with  eyes  straining  to  pierce  the 
starlit  monotone.  The  man  rose  slowly  from  his  seat. 
Finally  he  turned  about  and  faced  her,  and  his  eyes 
smiled  into  hers. 

"  The  hanging  bee,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  RAIDERS  RAIDED 

IT  was  the  gap  where  the  screen  of  bush  broke  off, 
leaving  the  barren  shoulder  overlooking  the  valley.  It 
was  where  the  hard-beaten,  converging  cattle-paths  hurled 
themselves  over  the  brink  to  the  wide  depths  below. 

The  stillness  that  prevailed  was  unbroken  by  a  single 
night  sound.  Even  the  insect  life  seemed  wrapped  in  a 
deep  hush  of  somnolence.  As  yet  the  night  scavengers 
had  not  emerged  from  their  hidings  to  bay  the  silvery 
radiance  of  a  moonlit  night.  The  deep  hush  beneath  the 
myriad  of  eyes  of  night  was  as  beautiful  as  it  was  treach- 
erous, for  it  only  cloaked  hot,  stirring  passions  ready  in  a 
moment  to  break  out  into  warring  chaos. 

Crouching  low  under  the  shelter  of  the  screening  bush 
three  figures  huddled  closely.  They  were  peering  across 
the  wide  gulf,  searching  with  eyes  that  only  half  read 
what  lay  before  them  in  the  starlight  Their  gaze  rested 
upon  one  definite  spot  whose  shadowy  outline  was  indi- 
cated by  the  outstretched  arm  of  one  of  the  party.  It 
was  a  deep  woodland  bluff,  leaning,  as  it  seemed,  for 
support  against  the  far  wall  of  the  valley's  western  slope. 

After  some  tense  moments  the  straining  eyes  beheld 
the  faintest  glimmer  of  artificial  light  flickering  in  the 
depths  of  its  silent  heart.  So  faint  was  it,  at  the  distance, 
that,  for  a  while,  doubt  prevailed.    Then  conviction  super- 


80  THE  FORFEIT 

vened  as  each  of  the  watchers  recorded  his  observation, 
and  a  sigh  of  certitude  made  itself  heard.  The  point  of 
light  was  held  by  all.  It  was  dwelt  upon.  It  was  the 
verification  needed  to  convey  absolute  faith  in  the  woman's 
tale  miraculous. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  light  in  some  window  of  a  secret 
abode.  Perhaps  it  was  the  steady  flicker  of  an  un- 
screened camp-fire.  Perhaps,  even,  it  was  the  beam  of 
some  lantern  carelessly  set  down  and  left  alight.  What- 
ever it  was  it  was  certainly  of  human  agency,  and  hu- 
man agency  in  these  regions  had  only  one  interpretation 
for  the  minds  of  those  who  were  watching  from  the  high 
eastern  wall  of  the  valley. 

Presently  a  woman's  voice  spoke  in  the  hush  of  sup- 
pressed excitement.  Her  tone  was  full  of  an  eagerness 
that  hurled  her  words  swiftly  upon  the  still  night  air. 

"  That's  where  I  marked  them  down,"  she  whispered. 
"There — just  there.  Right  where  that  light's  shining. 
Somewhere  in  the  heart  of  that  bluff.  There  was  a  herd 
grazing  out  in  front,  with  three  mounted  men  guarding 
it.  There's  no  mistake.  It's  a  bee-line  right  across. 
And  the  men  who  fired  up  this  way  came  out  of  those 
trees.  It's  steep  down  these  paths.  They  sort  of  zigzag 
their  way,  but  it's  a  path  any  horse  can  make  without 
danger.  It  just  needs  care.  Once  in  the  valley  it's  a 
stretch  of  sweet-grass  without  a  bluff  or  a  break  of  any 
sort.  There's  no  slough  either.  It's  just  grass.  One 
big  flat  of  sweet-grass." 

There  was  no  reply  from  her  companions.  They  were 
engrossed  with  the  object  of  their  straining  scrutiny. 
Presently  the  woman  went  on  again. 

"  This  is  where  my  work  quits,"  she  said.     Then  she 


THE  RAIDERS  RAIDED  81 

withdrew  her  gaze  and  looked  up  at  the  dim  outline  of 
the  big  man  nearest  her.  There  was  just  a  shade  of 
eagerness  in  her  manner  now.  "That's  Lightfoot's 
camp,  Mr.  McFarlane,"  she  assured.  "  I've  done  all 
that's  needed.  You  see,  I'm  a  woman,  and  I  don't  guess 
you  need  anything  more  from  me.  Shall  I  stop  right 
here,  or — get  back  to  home  ?  " 

Bob  Whitstone  was  watching  his  wife  closely  as  she 
addressed  herself  to  the  rancher.  He  noted  her  tone, 
her  evident  anxiety  now,  and  he  understood.  A  curious 
repulsion  surged  through  him.  In  the  brief  two  years  of 
his  married  life  no  such  sensation  had  ever  possessed 
him.  But  he  recognized  it.  It  was  the  breaking  point. 
Effie  no  longer  held  place  in  his  affections.  He  glanced 
up  at  McFarlane  as  his  deep  tones  whispered  in  the 
silence. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  get  right  back  to  home.  There's  no  need 
for  you  to  get  mussed  up  with  what's  goin'  to  happen. 
It's  man's  work,  not  a  woman's.  Your  husband's  got  my 
word.     You'll  find  we  aren't  forgetful." 

Then  he  drew  back  under  cover,  and  moved  away  to 
where,  scattered  along  the  path,  well  sheltered  from  view, 
a  large  party  of  dismounted  horsemen  were  awaiting  his 
orders. 

Effie  turned  to  her  husband. 

"  You're  coming  back  with  me,  Bob  ?  "  she  said,  almost 
pleadingly.     H  It's  a  long  way  to  home." 

Bob's  eyes  gazed  straight  into  hers.  Even  in  the 
darkness  Effie  felt  something  of  the  coldness  of  his  re- 
gard. 

"  Are  you  scared  ?  "  he  demanded. 

Effie  shook  her  head. 


82  THE  FORFEIT 

"  There's  nothing  to  be  scared  at.  But  you've  nothing 
to  do  with — the  rest  of  it." 

"Haven't  I?" 

"  You're  not  going  down  there  with  them  ?  " 

There  was  a  curious  sharpness  in  the  woman's  whis- 
pering voice.     Bob's  cold  regard  remained  unwavering. 

"  I'm  leaving  nothing  to  chance.  You've  got  to  get 
your  wages.  I'm  going  to  see  you  get  them.  Yes,  I'm 
going — down  there." 

A  sudden  fierce  passion  swept  through  the  woman's 
heart.  Hot  words  in  retort  surged  to  her  lips.  But 
they  remained  unuttered.  A  strong  effort  of  restraint 
checked  them.  She  turned  away  coldly,  her  eyes  focus- 
sing once  more  upon  the  tiny  point  of  light  across  the 
hollow. 

"  Guess  you  must  do  as  you  think,"  she  said,  with  a 
shrug.  And  she  remained  with  her  back  turned  upon 
the  man  she  was  destined  never  to  address  again. 

Bob  moved  away  and  joined  the  rest  of  the  Vigilantes. 
They  were  already  in  the  saddle.  Dug  McFarlane  had 
given  his  final  orders.  In  a  moment  Bob  surveyed  the 
scene  in  the  dim  light.  Then  he  turned  away  to  his  own 
horse  and  sprang  into  the  saddle. 

McFarlane  saw  him  and  rode  up. 

"You  coming  along?"  he  enquired  curiously. 

"  Sure." 

"  Good  boy."  Then  he  drew  a  deep  breath.  "  Maybe 
there'll  be  an  empty  saddle  or  two  before  we've  done. 
But  I  don't  guess  that'll  need  to  worry  us  any.  The  man 
who  *  passes  in '  to-night  won't  have  any  kick  comin'. 
It's  better  that  way — with  your  duty  done." 

"  Yes." 


THE  RAIDERS  RAIDED  83 

The  simple  monosyllable  was  strangely  expressive,  but 
Dug  McFarlane  had  no  understanding  of  the  thought 
that  prompted  it.  It  would  have  been  difficult  indeed, 
even  with  understanding,  to  have  probed  the  depths  of 
feeling  prompting  it.  But  Whitstone  was  incapable  of 
seeing  the  broader  aspect  of  anything  pertaining  to  him- 
self. He  saw  only  as  his  feelings  dictated,  without  logic 
or  reason  of  any  sort.  He  was  of  that  nature  which  leans 
for  support  upon  prejudices  absorbed  in  early  youth. 
Principles  inculcated  through  early  environment  and 
teaching.  He  was  incapable  of  testing  or  questioning 
their  verity.  Robbed  of  them  he  was  left  floundering. 
And  Erne,  the  woman  whom  he  had  married  only  out  of 
hot,  youthful  human  regard,  had  so  robbed  him. 

Effie  drew  back.  She  pressed  herself  close  into  the 
bush  as  the  cavalcade  sought  the  path  at  the  edge  of  the 
valley.  She  watched  the  burly  leader  vanish  over  the 
brink.  Then,  one  by  one,  twenty-five  others  passed  her 
in  review,  and  were  swallowed  up  by  the  depths  below. 
She  knew  none  of  them  personally,  but  she  knew  they 
were  all  ranchers  and  ranchmen  of  varying  degree.  She 
knew  that  each  individual  had  at  some  time  suffered  at 
the  hands  of  the  rustlers.  That  deep  in  each  heart  was 
the  craving  for  a  vengeance  which  possessed  small 
enough  thought  of  justice  in  it.  These  men  were  Vig- 
ilantes. They  were  so  called  not  from  any  desire  to  en- 
force law  and  order,  but  purely  for  their  own  self-defense, 
the  defending  of  self-interests. 

They  impressed  her  not  from  any  justice  of  motive, 
but  from  the  merciless  purpose  upon  which  they  were 
bent. 

The  last  to  pass  over  the  brink  was  her  husband,  a 


84  THE  FORFEIT 

slight  figure,  almost  puny,  amongst  these  hard  prairie 
folk.  Just  for  one  weak  moment  she  was  on  the  point 
of  raising  a  protesting  voice.  Just  for  one  moment  a 
womanly  softening  held  her  yielding.  He  was  her  hus- 
band, and  memories  crowded.  But  almost  as  they  were 
born  they  died.  Their  place  was  once  more  taken  by  the 
recollection  of  the  life  she  had  been  forced  to  endure  for 
the  sake  of  her  first  youthful  passion.  Her  heart  hard- 
ened. No  impulse  had  driven  her  to  her  present  actions. 
They  were  the  result  of  a  craving  she  was  powerless  to 
resist.  Her  husband  must  go  his  way.  He  must  act  as 
he  saw  fit.  For  herself  she  would  not  forego  one  tithe  of 
the  reward  which  she  believed  would  help  her  to  that 
comfort  in  life  for  which  her  soul  yearned. 

With  the  passing  of  the  Vigilantes  she  moved  clear  of 
the  bush.  She  would  see  this  out.  Home?  She  had 
no  desire  for  her  home.  The  night  had  no  terrors  for 
her.  Nothing  had  terror  for  her,  except  the  failure  of 
these  men. 

She  flung  herself  upon  the  ground  and  lay  with  wide 
eyes  searching  the  remoteness  of  the  valley  beyond.  Her 
impatience  had  developed  into  something  almost  feverish. 
She  wanted  a  sign.  She  wanted  assurance.  But  the  world 
seemed  so  still,  so  entirely  peaceful. 

The  moments  pursued  for  her  a  sluggish  course.  The 
jeweled  sky  was  an  added  regret.  She  desired  light, 
light  that  she  might  witness  the  whole  drama  she  hoped 
— yes,  hoped — would  be  played  out  down  there  in  the 
valley.  A  sort  of  dementia  had  taken  possession  of  her. 
She  had  no  thought  of  the  blood  to  be  poured  out  at  her 
bidding.  She  thought  nothing  of  the  strong  lives  to  be 
given  up  in  sacrifice  for  her  well-being.     She  vhought 


THE  RAIDERS  RAIDED  85 

only  of  herself,  and  all  that  the  success  of  that  night's 
affairs  would  mean  to  her. 

But  the  dragging  minutes  extending  upward  of  half 
an  hour  wore  her  fever  down.  And  slowly  depression 
replaced  her  more  tense  emotions.  It  all  seemed  so  long 
in  happening  that  failure  began  to  loom,  and  to  become 
a  certainty. 

It  was  too  good  to  hope.  Ten  thousand  dollars  1  The 
amount  bulked  in  her  mind.  It  grew  greater  and  greater 
in  its  significance  as  delay  thrust  hope  further  and  further 
from  her  thought.  Again  impatience  grew,  hot,  angry 
impatience,  and  drove  depression  out.  What  were  they 
doing  down  there  ?  Why  did  they  not  surround  the  bluff  ? 
There  were  enough  of  them.  Look !  The  light  was  still 
shining.  It  was  the  camp.  Where  that  light  shone  the 
men  lay  in  hiding.  Well — it  was  simple.  To  her  mind 
there  was  no  need  for 

The  sound  of  a  rifle  shot  split  the  air  with  significant 
abruptness.  The  sound  banished  the  last  of  her  half-angry 
musing.  The  moment  had  come.  She  raised  herself  up 
for  no  other  reason  than  tense  drawn  suspense. 

A  second  shot.  Then  a  rattle  of  musketry  which  sug- 
gested general  conflict.  She  drew  a  deep  breath.  Far 
away  in  the  distance  it  seemed  she  heard  a  sharp  cry.  It 
was  the  final  shriek  of  a  human  creature  in  the  agony  of 
a  mortal  wound.  Then  followed  the  sound  of  hoarse 
voices  shouting. 

For  some  moments  nothing  in  the  scene  changed.  The 
speck  of  light  shone  out  twinkling  and  gleaming  like  some 
evil  eye.  For  the  rest — there  remained  the  deep  twilight 
marked  by  the  myriads  of  summer  stars. 

But  the  cries  of  men,  the  trampling  of  speeding  hoofs 


86  THE  FORFEIT 

held  her.  The  breathlessness  of  the  whole  thing  was  upon 
her  now,  making  it  impossible  to  detach  her  regard  from 
the  main  features. 

The  rattle  of  rifles  had  become  almost  incessant.  And 
a  few  moments  later  a  blaze  of  light  shot  up  from  the  far 
side  of  the  bluff.  It  grew,  licking  up  the  great,  sun-dried, 
resinous  pine  wood  with  paralyzing  rapidity.  Another 
great  sheet  of  flame  soared  upward  further  away  to  the 
right.  Then  another  to  the  south.  A  fire  trap  had  been 
set  at  the  far  side  of  the  great  bluff,  and  only  the  hither 
side  remained  open  to  those  seeking  shelter  within  it. 

Effie's  gaze  was  fascinated  beyond  her  control.  The 
Vigilantes  had  planned  their  coup  deliberately  and  well. 
The  air  she  was  breathing  began  to  reek  with  the  pungent 
smell  of  burning.  A  light  smoke  haze  began  to  flood  the 
picture.  Now  she  beheld  moving  figures  in  the  lurid 
glow  which  backed  the  scene.  They  were  horsemen. 
But  whether  or  not  they  were  the  Vigilantes  she  could 
not  be  certain.  They  were  racing  across  the  open,  and 
the  crack  of  their  rifles  mingled  with  the  spluttering 
crackle  of  the  conflagration  beyond. 

Never  for  one  moment  did  the  woman  withdraw  her 
gaze.  The  spell  of  it  all  was  almost  painful.  She  knew 
that  life  and  death  were  at  grips  down  there  in  that 
cauldron  of  conflict.  And  though  at  moments  shudders 
passed  through  her  body,  they  were  neither  shudders  of 
weakness  nor  womanish  horror.  Her  only  emotion  was 
excitement,  and  her  nerves  were  ready  to  respond  in 
physical  expression  to  every  vision  her  eyes  communi- 
cated to  them. 

An  hour  passed  thus.  The  bluff  was  a  furnace,  roar- 
ing, booming.     It  lit  the  valley  seemingly  from  end  to 


THE  RAIDERS  RAIDED  S7 

end.  The  night  shadows  had  been  swept  aside,  and  the 
scene  lay  spread  out  before  her  eyes.  She  saw  dismounted 
riders  moving  about.  She  beheld  one  group;  a  num- 
ber of  men  huddled  together,  held  as  though  they  were 
prisoners. 

At  last  firing  altogether  ceased  and  the  straggling 
horsemen  began  to  reassemble  in  the  vicinity  of  the  chief 
group.  Then,  as  the  raging  fire  ate  its  way  through  to 
the  hither  side  of  the  bluff,  and  turned  the  final  barrier 
into  a  wall  of  fire,  the  whole  party  moved  away  down  the 
valley  with  obvious  signs  of  haste. 

Effie  gazed  after  them  with  widening  eyes  while  the 
hot  breath  of  the  conflagration  fanned  her  cheeks.  She 
was  wondering,  speculating,  and  slowly  the  significance 
of  their  movements  began  to  take  hold  of  her. 

At  first  she  had  thought  that  the  movement  was  in- 
spired by  the  overpowering  heat  of  the  forest  fire.  She 
had  warned  herself  of  the  danger.  The  grass  down  there. 
The  flying  sparks.  But  almost  in  the  same  breath  she 
realized  that  there  was  more,  far  more  in  that  movement. 
The  grass  was  far  too  green  in  the  valley  to  form  any  real 
danger  and  the  bluff  was  sufficiently  isolated.  No,  there 
was  more  in  it  than  the  danger  of  fire. 

She  shivered,  although  the  night  air  now  possessed 
something  of  the  temperature  of  a  summer  noon.  All  her 
excitement  had  passed.  She  had  even  forgotten  for  the 
time  all  that  the  doings  of  that  night  meant  to  her.  She 
was  thinking  of  the  deliberate  administration  of  justice  as 
these  men  understood  it.  It  was  crude,  deadly,  and  full 
of  a  painful  horror,  and  now,  now,  in  saner  moments,  she 
beheld  the  dawn  of  emotions  which  had  come  all  too  late. 
Whither  were  those  men  riding  ?     Whither  ?    And  then  ? 


88  THE  FORFEIT 

Ah — she  shuddered,  and  her  shudder  was  full  of  realiza- 
tion. For  well  she  knew  that  the  men  she  had  seen 
grouped  were  living  prisoners.  Living  prisoners.  How 
long  would  they  remain  so  ?    What  would  be  their  end  ? 


CHAPTER  VII 

OUTLAND  JUSTICE 

THE  noon  sun  sweltered  down  through  the  rank  vege- 
tation of  the  narrow  defile.  The  heat  was  almost  too  bur- 
densome to  endure.  It  was  moist ;  it  was  dank  with  the 
reek  of  decaying  matter.  The  way  was  a  seemingly  end- 
less battle  against  odds.  But  the  travelers  were  buoyed 
with  the  knowledge  that  it  was  a  short  cut,  calculated  to 
save  them  many  hours  and  many  miles. 

Bud  Tristram  had  pointed  the  way.  Furthermore,  he 
had  urged  Jeff  to  accept  and  endure  the  tortures  and 
shortcomings  which  he  knew  they  must  face  in  the  heart 
of  this  remote  gulch. 

Nor  were  his  warnings  unneeded,  for  Nature  had  set  up 
no  inconsiderable  defenses.  Here  were  swarms  of  over- 
grown mosquitoes  of  a  peculiarly  vicious  type,  which 
covered  their  horses'  flanks  in  a  gray  horde,  almost  obliter- 
ating their  original  colors  ;  and  a  bleeding  mass  resulted 
every  time  either  man  raised  a  hand  to  the  back  of  his 
own  neck  to  soothe  the  fierce  irritation  of  the  vicious 
attacks.  Then  the  way  itself.  It  was  a  narrow  gorge 
almost  completely  occupied  by  the  muddy  bed  and  boggy 
shores  of  a  drying  mountain  creek. 

It  was,  in  Jeff's  own  words,  a  "  fierce  journey."  The 
heat  left  them  drenched  in  perspiration,  and  wiltering. 
The  two  packhorses  fought  for  their  very  lives,  often 
hock  deep  in  a  sucking  mire.     While  the  beasts,  who  bore 


90  THE  FORFEIT 

the  burden  of  their  exacting  masters,  were  driven  to  battle 
every  inch  of  the  way  against  a  fiercely  obstinate  rampart 
of  dense  grown  bush. 

Mercifully  the  gorge  was  less  than  three  miles  in  length. 
A  greater  distance  must  have  left  the  nervous  equine  mind 
staggered,  and  helpless,  and  beaten.  As  it  was  nearly 
three  hours  of  incessant  struggle  only  served  to  pass  the 
final  barrier. 

"  Phew  1 " 

Jeff  Masters  drew  off  his  hat  as  they  emerged  upon  the 
wide  opening  of  a  great  valley.  Then  he  flung  himself 
out  of  the  saddle  and  began  to  sweep  the  blood-inflated 
mosquitoes  from  his  horse's  flanks.  Bud,  with  less  haste, 
proceeded  to  do  the  same.  Finally,  both  men  walked 
round  the  weary  beasts  and  examined  the  security  of  the 
packs  on  the  led  horses. 

Bud  pointed  down  the  valley  with  one  outstretched  arm. 

"  We'll  make  that  way,"  he  said,  his  deep  eyes  dwell- 
ing almost  affectionately  upon  the  wide  stretch  of  blue- 
tinted  grass.  "  Guess  we'll  take  the  high  land  an'  camp 
fer  food." 

Then  he  turned  back  to  his  horse  and  remounted.  Jeff 
silently  followed  his  example  and  they  rode  on. 

For  many  minutes  no  word  passed  between  them.  Each 
was  busy  with  his  own  particular  thoughts.  The  deep 
look  of  friendly  affection  was  still  in  Bud's  eyes.  Jeff  was 
far  less  concerned  with  the  wonderful  scene  slowly  un- 
folding itself  as  they  proceeded  than  with  the  purpose  of 
his  journey.  He  knew  they  had  reached  the  central 
point  from  which  they  were  to  radiate  their  search  of  the 
labyrinth  of  hills.  His  mind  was  upon  the  wealth  of  pos- 
sibility before  them.     The  difficulties.     Bud,  for  the  time 


OUTLAND  JUSTICE  91 

at  least,  was  concerned  only  with  that  which  his  eyes 
beheld,  and  the  memories  of  other  days  far,  far  back  when 
he  had  possessed  no  greater  responsibility  than  the  quest 
of  adventure,  and  his  own  safe  delivery  from  the  fruits  of 
his  unwisdom. 

It  was  he  who  first  broke  the  silence  between  them. 

"  Gee  I  "  he  exclaimed,  with  that  curious  note  of  appre- 
ciation which  that  ejaculation  can  assume.  "  It's  big. 
Say,  Jeff,  it's  big  an'  good  to  look  on.  Sort  of  makes  you 
think,  too,  don't  it  ?  Jest  get  a  peek  that  way.  Them 
slopes."  He  indicated  the  western  boundary  of  the  Val- 
ley rising  up,  up  to  great  pine- crested  heights.  "  A  thou- 
sand— two  thousand  feet.  And  hills  beyond.  Big  hills, 
with  snows  you  couldn't  melt  anyhow.  Over  there,  too." 
One  great  hand  waved  in  the  direction  of  the  east.  "  Lesser 
hills.  Lesser  woods.  But— man,  it's  fine  !  Then  ahead. 
Miles  an'  miles  of  this  queer  blue  grass  which  sets  fat  on 
cattle  inches  deep." 

His  words  ceased,  but  his  eyes  continued  to  feast, 
flooding  the  simple  brain  behind  them  with  a  joy  which 
no  words  could  describe.    Presently  he  went  on  : 

"  Makes  you  feel  A' mighty  God's  a  pretty  big  feller, 
don't  it?  Guess  He  jest  tumbles  things  around,  an' 
sets  up,  an'  levels  down  in  a  way  that  wouldn't  mean  a 
thing  to  brains  like  ours — till  He's  finished  it  all,  and 
sort  of  swep'  up  tidy.  Look  at  them  colors,  way  up 
there  to  the  west.  Queer  ?  Sure.  Every  sort  o'  blamed 
color  in  a  tangle  no  earthly  painter  could  set  out.  Ain't 
it  a  pictur'  ?  It's  jest  a  sort  o'  pictur'  a  painter  feller's  li'ble 
to  spend  most  of  his  wholesome  nights  dreamin'  about. 
An'  when  he  wakes  up,  why,  I  don't  guess  he  kin  even 
think  like  it,  an'  he  sure  ain't  a  hell  of  a  chance  to  paint 


92  THE  FORFEIT 

that  way  anyhow.  Say,  d'you  make  it  these  things  are, 
or  is  it  jest  something  He  sets  in  us  makes  us  see  'em 
that  way?  He's  big — He  surely  is.  I'm  glad  I  come 
along  with  you,  Jeff,  boy.  Y'  see,  a  feller  sort  o'  sits 
around  home,  an'  sees  the  same  grass,  an'  brands  the 
same  steers,  an'  thinks  the  same  thinks.  Ther'  ain't 
nothin'  he  don't  know  around  home.  He  gets  so  life 
don't  seem  a  thing,  an'  he  jest  feels  he's  running  things 
so  as  he  pleases.  He  sort  o'  fergets  he's  jest  a  part  o' 
the  scenery  around.  He  fergets  he's  set  in  that  scenery 
by  an  A' mighty  big  Hand,  same  as  them  all-fired 
m'squitters  we  just  found,  an'  kind  o'  guesses  he  is  that 
A'mighty  Hand."  He  turned  his  deeply  smiling  eyes  on 
his  companion.  "  I  don't  often  take  on  like  this,  Jeff," 
he  apologized,  "but  the  sight  o' this  place  makes  me 
want  to  shout  an'  get  right  out  an'  thank  the  good  God 
He's  seen  fit  to  let  me  sit  around  an'  live." 

But  Jeff  had  no  means  of  simple  expression  such  as 
Bud.  He  could  never  give  verbal  expression  to  the 
emotions  locked  away  in  his  heart.  Those  who  knew 
him  regarded  it  as  reserve,  even  hardness.  Perhaps  it 
was  only  that  shyness  which  the  strongest  characters  are 
often  most  prone  to. 

He  ignored  the  older  man's  quaintly  expressed  feel- 
ings, and  fastened  upon  the  opening  he  had  at  last 
received,  and  which  he  had  been  seeking  ever  since  it  had 
become  obvious  that  Bud's  knowledge  of  the  great  Cathill 
range  was  almost  phenomenal. 

"You  know  these  parts  a  heap,"  he  observed. 

"Know  'em?"  Bud  laughed  in  his  deep-throated 
way,  which  was  only  another  indication  of  his  buoyant 
mood.     "You'd  know  'em,  boy,  if  you'd  had  a  father 


OUTLAND  JUSTICE  93 

build  up  a  big  pelt  trading  post  right  in  this  valley, 
an'  fer  sixteen  years  o'  your  life  you'd  ridden,  an'  shot, 
an'  hunted  over  this  blue  grass,  and  these  hills,  for 
nigh  a  range  of  fifty  mile.  Guess  I  know  this  territory 
same  as  you  know  the  playgrounds  o'  the  college  that 
handed  you  your  knowledge  o'  riggers.  Know  it?  Say, 
you  could  dump  me  right  down  anywhere  around  here 
for  fifty  miles  an'  more,  an'  I'd  travel  straight  here  same 
as  the  birds  fly."  He  laughed  again.  "  When  you  said 
you'd  the  notion  of  huntin'  out  your  brother,  who  was 
huntin'  these  hills,  you  give  me  the  excuse  I'd  been 
yearnin'  to  find  in  years.  I  wanted  to  see  these  hills 
again.  I  wanted  it  bad.  Guess  I  was  jest  crazy  fer  it. 
It  didn't  get  me  figgerin'  long,  either,  to  locate  wher' 
we'd  likely  find  that  boy  you're  lookin'  fer.  Ther' 
ain't  no  better  huntin'  ground  than  around  this  valley. 
It's  sort  of  untouched  since  my  father  died,  an'  I  had 
to  quit  it  and  take  to  punchin'  cattle.  Then  ther's  that 
post  he  built.  A  dandy  place,  with  nigh  everything  a 
pelt  hunter  needs  fer  his  comfort.  We're  making  for  that 
post  right  now,  an'  when  we  make  it  I'm  guessin'  we 
ain't  goin'  to  chase  much  farther  to  locate  that  twin 
brother  of  yours." 

"  But  you  never " 

Bud  shook  his  great  head,  and  stretched  his  un- 
gainly legs  with  his  stirrups  thrust  out  wide. 

"  Sure  I  didn't  tell  you  these  things,"  he  nodded,  in 
simple,  almost  childlike  enjoyment. 

"  I  never Say,  does  Nan  know  you  were — raised 

here?" 

"  Surely."  Then  Bud  went  on  with  an  amused  twinkle 
in  his  eyes.     "  But  I  guess  Nan's  like  me.     It  ain't  our 


94  THE  FORFEIT 

way  worryin'  other  folks  with  our  troubles.  You  see, 
most  folks  ain't  a  heap  o'  time  to  listen  to  other  folks' 
troubles.  Most  everybody's  jest  yearnin'  to  tell  their 
own." 

"Troubles?"  Jeff  smiled  in  his  own  peculiarly 
shadowy  fashion.  "  You  don't  seem  to  figure  this 
valley's  any  sort  of  trouble,  nor  its  associations.  But 
maybe  there's  a  bone  or  two  hidden  around  you  don't 
figure  to  show  me." 

Bud  remained  silent  for  some  moments.  Then  he 
gave  way  to  another  of  his  joyous,  deep-throated  laughs. 

"  No,  sirree  !  Ther'  ain't  no  troubles  to  this  valley 
fer  me.  None.  I  got  memories  I  wouldn't  sell  fer  a 
farm.  Them  wer'  days  you  didn't  find  trouble  in  nothin'. 
No.  It's  later  on  you  see  things  difTrent.  Make  good, 
an'  you  see  troubles  wher'  there  shouldn't  be  none.  You 
an'  me  we're  guessin'  to  make  a  pile  o'  dollars,  so  we 
could  set  up  a  palace  on  5th  Av'noo,  New  York,  if  we 
was  yearnin'  that-a-way.  I  don't  reckon  there's  many 
fellers  'ud  find  trouble  in  such  a  play  as  that.  Wal,  I'd  be 
willing  enough  to  turn  it  all  down,  an'  pitch  camp  right 
here  among  these  hills,  an'  chase  pelts  for  the  few  dollars 
needed  to  keep  the  wind  from  rattling  my  bones — 'cep' 
fer  Nan." 

"  Ah  yes — Nan.  There's  Nan  to  think  of.  And  Nan's 
more  to  you,  Bud,  than  anything  else  in  life.  Say,  your 
little  girl's  a  bright  jewel.  I  don't  need  to  say  a  word 
about  her  value,  eh  ?  But  some  day  you're  going  to  lose 
her.     And  then  ?  " 

Bud's  eyes  came  round  upon  him  and  for  some  mo- 
ments encountered  Jeff's  steady  regard.  Then  he  looked 
away,  and  slowly  all  its  simple  delight  dropped  from  the 


OUTLAND  JUSTICE  95 

strong  weather-tanned  face,  to  be  replaced  by  an  almost 
painful  dejection.  Presently  he  turned  again,  and,  in  a 
moment,  Jeff  found  an  added  interest  in  the  wonderful 
scene  that  lay  ahead  of  him. 

"  Nan's  a  fine,  good  gal,"  Bud  declared,  with  simple 
earnestness.  "  Guess  she's  her  mother  over  again — only 
she's ;  jest  Nan.  Nan's  more  to  me  than  all  the  dollars  in 
creation,  boy.  Guess  you're  right.  Oh,  yes,  you're  right 
— sure."  The  man  brushed  aside  the  beads  of  sweat  from 
his  broad  forehead.  "  An'  Nan's  goin'  to  do  jest  as  she 
notions.  She's  goin'  to  live  around  her  home  as  long  as 
she  feels  that  way.  When  she  don't  feel  that  way  she's 
goin'  to  quit.  When  she  feels  like  choosin'  a  man  fer 
herself — why,  I'm  goin'  to  do  all  I  know  helpin'  her  that 
way.  But  it's  goin'  to  be  her  choice,  boy.  An'  when 
that  time  comes,  why,  I'll  get  right  down  on  my  knees 
an'  pray  A'mighty  God  he's  the  feller  for  her,  an'  the  man 
I'm  hopin'  she'll  choose,  an'  that  he  wants  her,  same  as 
she  wants  him." 

Then  he  shook  his  head  and  a  deep  sigh  escaped 
him. 

"  But  I  don't  know.  It  don't  seem  to  me  reasonable. 
Y'  see,  the  luck's  run  all  my  way  so  far,  an'  I  don't  guess 
you  can  keep  on  dealin'  the  cards  without  'em  gettin' 
right  up  an'  handin'  it  you  plenty — some  time." 

Jeff  had  no  reply.  Something  warned  him  to  keep 
silent.  The  older  man  in  his  earnest  simplicity  had 
opened  out  to  him  a  vista  which  he  felt  he  had  no  right 
to  gaze  upon. 

As  they  jogged  steadily  along  over  the  blue-green  car- 
pet, and  the  kaleidoscopic  coloring  of  the  distant  slopes 
fell  away  behind  them,  his  whole  mental  vision  became 


96  THE  FORFEIT 

occupied  by  the  sweet  picture  of  a  brown-eyed,  brown- 
haired  girl.  But  he  was  regarding  it  without  any  lover's 
emotions.  Rather  was  he  regarding  it  as  one  who  calmly 
appraises  a  beautiful  jewel  he  does  not  covet.  He  was 
thinking  of  Nan  as  he  had  known  her  for  some  five  years. 
From  the  days  of  her  schoolgirlhood  he  had  watched  her 
develop  into  a  grown  woman  full  of  all  that  was  whole- 
some and  winsome.  She  was  her  father  over  again, 
trustful,  simple,  fearless,  and  she  was  possessed  of  a 
whimsical  philosophy  quite  beyond  her  years.  Her 
beauty  was  undeniable,  her  gentle  kindliness  was  no  less. 
But  the  memory  of  these  things  made  no  stirring  within 
him.  Nan  was  just  a  loyal  little  friend  whom  he  loved 
and  was  ready  to  serve  as  he  might  love  and  help  a  sister, 
but  regard  of  her  broke  off  at  that.  So,  as  he  rode,  the 
pictures  of  her  failed  to  hold  him,  and,  finally,  his  roving 
gaze  became  caught  and  held  by  a  sudden  and  striking 
anachronism  in  the  scene  about  him. 

He  claimed  Bud's  attention  with  a  gesture  which  roused 
him  from  his  engrossing  thought. 

"  Fire,"  he  observed. 

Bud's  gaze  became  rivetted  on  the  spot. 

"  Yes,  it's  fire — sure,"  he  admitted. 

It  was  a  long  way  ahead.  Only  the  trained  eyes  of 
prairiemen  could  have  read  the  sign  aright  at  such  a 
distance.  It  was  a  break  in  the  wonderful  sea  of  varying 
shades  of  restful  green.  It  was,  to  them,  an  ominous 
dead  black  patch  which  broke  the  sky-line  with  unmis- 
takable skeleton  arms. 

It  was  the  only  remark  upon  the  subject  which  passed 
between  them,  but  as  they  rode  on  it  occupied  something 
more  than  a  passing  attention.    ; 


OUTLAND  JUSTICE  97 

With  Jeff  his  interest  was  mere  curiosity.  With  Bud  it 
was  deeper  and  more  significant.  Had  the  younger  man 
observed  him  he  might  have  discovered  a  curious  ex- 
pression almost  amounting  to  pain  in  the  deep  eyes 
which  contemplated  the  blackened  limbs  where  the  fire 
had  wrought  its  havoc. 

As  they  drew  nearer  it  became  apparent  that  the 
havoc  was  even  greater  than  they  had  first  supposed.  A 
wide  patch  of  woodland,  hundreds  of  acres  in  extent, 
whose  upper  limits  were  confined  only  by  the  summit  of 
the  valley's  slope,  where  it  cut  the  sky-line,  had  been  com- 
pletely burnt  out.  Nor  was  it  possible  to  tell  if  even  that 
limit  was  the  extent  of  the  disaster. 

Bud  suddenly  reined  in  his  horse  as  they  came  abreast 
of  it,  and  his  voice  broke  with  painful  sharpness  upon  the 
deathly  stillness  of  the  world  about  them, 
:  "  It's  gone,"  he  cried,  with  a  note  of  deep  distress  and 
grievous  disappointment.  "  It's  burnt  right  out  to  a 
shell.     Say " 

"  What's  gone  ?  " 

The  older  man  glanced  round.  Then  his  troubled 
eyes  sought  the  charred  remains  of  the  splendid  pines 
once  more. 

4<  Why — the  post."  Then  he  pointed  amongst  the 
charred  skeletons.  "  Get  a  peek  right  in  ther'.  See, 
JefT.  Them  walls ;  them  fallen  logs.  Burnt.  Burnt 
right  through  to  the  heart  of  'em.  That's  all  that's  left 
of  the  home  that  sheltered  me  for  the  first  sixteen  years  of 
my  life.     Say,  I'm  sick — sick  to  death." 

JefT  left  his  packhorse  and  moved  forward  amongst  the 
blackened  limbs.  The  reek  of  burnt  wood  hung  heavily 
upon  the  air.     He  threaded  his  way  carefully  toward  the 


98  THE  FORFEIT 

charred  remains  of  an  extensive  abode,  now  plainly  vis- 
ible amongst  the  black  tree  trunks. 

It  was  a  wide  rambling  structure,  and,  though  burnt 
to  cinders,  much  of  its  general  shape,  and  the  great  logs 
which  had  formed  its  walls,  still  remained  to  testify  to  all 
it  had  been  under  the  hands  of  those  who  had  originally 
wrought  there. 

Jeff  glanced  back  at  the  man  he  had  left  behind.  He 
had  not  stirred.  He  sat  in  the  saddle  just  gazing  at  the 
destruction.  That  was  all.  So  he  turned  again  to  the 
ruins,  and,  dismounting,  he  proceeded  on  foot  to  explore. 

They  were  eyes  wide  with  repulsion  and  a  certain 
horror  that  gazed  down  upon  the  object  at  Jeff's  feet. 
It  was  the  rotting,  charred  remains  of  a  human  figure. 
It  was  beyond  recognition,  except  in  so  far  as  its  human 
identity  was  concerned.  The  clothes  were  gone.  The 
flesh  was  seared  and  shriveled.  The  process  of  incinera- 
tion was  almost  complete. 

After  a  few  fascinated  moments  his  eyes  searched 
further  along  the  remains  of  the  old  post  wall.  Another 
figure  lay  sprawling  on  the  ground.  Near  by  it  a  heavy 
pistol  had  fallen  wide.  A  rifle,  too,  lay  across  the  second 
body. 

Every  detail  was  swiftly  absorbed  by  the  man's  keenly 
active  brain.  He  stood  back  from  the  gutted  precincts 
and  gazed  speculatively  upon  the  picture.  His  imagina- 
tion reconstructed  something  of  what  he  believed  must 
have  occurred  in  the  deep  heart  of  these  wrecked  wood- 
lands. 

What  of  the  fire  ?  How  had  it  been  started  ?  Was 
it  the  work    of  an  incendiary?     Had  the  heat  of  the 


OUTLAND  JUSTICE  99 

summer  sun  wrought  the  mischief  ?  Had  the  hut  itself 
supplied  the  trouble?  None  of  these  questions  offered 
real  enlightenment  through  the  answers  he  could  supply. 
No.  He  saw  the  superheated  furnace  of  the  woods 
blazing,  and  he  saw  men  struggling  with  all  their  might 
to  save  themselves,  and  some  of  their  more  precious  be- 
longings. The  reckless  daring  of  those  two,  perhaps  at 
the  last  moment,  returning  to  their  shelter  on  one  final 
journey  to  save  some  detail  of  their  home.  Then  the 
awful  penalty  for  their  temerity.  Perhaps  overwhelmed 
by  smoke.  Death — hideous,  appalling  death.  Death,  a 
thousand  times  worse  than  that  which,  in  the  routine  of 
their  lives,  it  was  their  work  to  mete  out  to  the  valuable 
fur  bearers  which  yielded  them  a  means  of  existence. 

A  sudden  question,  not  unaccompanied  by  fear,  swept 
through  his  brain.  It  was  a  question  inspired  by  the 
belief  that  these  men  were  fur  hunters.  Who — who  were 
they  ?  He  drew  close  up  to  each  body  in  turn,  seeking 
identity  where  none  was  discoverable.  A  sweat  broke 
upon  his  temples.  There  was  no  sign  in  them.  There 
was  no  human  semblance  except  for  outline. 

"  God  !     If  it  should  be " 

His  sentence  remained  incompleted.  A  dreadful  fear 
had  broken  it  off.  He  was  gazing  down  upon  the  second 
body,  in  earnest,  horrified  contemplation.  Then  to  his 
amazement  he  was  answered  by  Bud's  familiar  voice. 

"  It  ain't  the  boy  we're  chasin'  up,  Jeff,"  he  said,  with 
a  deep  assurance. 

"  How  d'you  know  that  ?  " 

The  demand  was  incisive,  almost  rough. 

"  These  folks  weren't  pelt  hunters.  Not  by  a  sight.  I 
bin  around." 


ioo  THE  FORFEIT 

Jeff  had  turned  to  the  speaker,  and  a  great  relief  shone 
in  his  eyes. 

"  What — who  were  they — then  ?"  he  asked  sharply. 

"  Maybe  it  was  a  ranch — of  sorts." 

"  Of  sorts  ?    You  mean ?  " 

"  Rustlers.  Come  right  on  out  of  here,  an'  I'll  show 
you." 

With  gentle  insistence  he  drew  his  friend  away  from 
the  painfully  fascinating  spectacle  which  held  so  difficult 
a  riddle.  And  presently  they  were  again  with  their 
horses,  which  were  grazing  unconcernedly  upon  the  sweet 
blue  grass  which  the  valley  yielded  so  generously. 

"  Well  ? "  There  was  almost  impatience  in  Jeff's 
monosyllable. 

For  answer  Bud  pointed  at  a  number  of  rough  fences, 
uneven,  crude,  makeshift,  some  distance  away. 

"See  them?  Oh,  yes,  I  guess  they're  corrals  sure. 
But  it  don't  take  a  feller  who's  lived  all  his  life  among 
cattle  more'n  five  seconds  to  locate  their  meanin'. 
They're  corrals  set  up  in  an  a' mighty  hurry  by  folks  who 
hate  work  o'  that  sort  anyway.  An'  I'd  say,  Jeff,  cattle- 
men— real  cattlemen — don't  dump  a  range  down  in  the 
heart  of  the  Cathills,  not  even  fer  this  sweet-grass  you  can 
see  around,  when  ther's  the  prairie  jest  outside.  That  is 
cattlemen  who  got  no  sort  o'  reason  fer  keepin'  quit  of 
the — open  plains.  Then  ther's  bin  a  big  drive  away  north 
from  here.     Mebbe  they  wer'  gettin'  clear  of  this  fire." 

Under  the  influence  of  Bud's  clear  convictions  all 
Jeff's  fears  vanished.  He  accepted  the  other's  admittedly 
better  understanding  of  these  things  all  the  more  readily 
that  he  desired  earnestly  to  dispel  the  last  shadows  of 
his  momentary  doubt. 


OUTLAND  JUSTICE  loi 

"That's  so/' he  agreed.  Then  he  added  :  "  But  any- 
way, our  camp's  gone." 

"Yes.  We'll  make  camp  some' ere  else.  Mean- 
whiles  " 

"Yes?" 

"  We  must  follow  up  the  trail." 

There  was  irrevocable  decision  in  the  older  cattle- 
man's tone.  And  his  words  had  the  effect  of  startling 
the  other. 

"  But— I  don't  see " 

"  They're  rustlers.  Ther's  their  tracks  clear  as  day. 
This  is  their  hiding.  Wal,  I  guess  there's  jest  one  thing 
to  be  done.  It's  our  duty  to  track  'em  down.  Our  duty 
to  the  cattle  world,  Jeff,  boy." 

"  But  what  about— Ronald  ?  " 

Bud  looked  him  squarely  in  the  eyes. 

"  We're  cattlemen  first,  Jeff.     The  other'll  come  later." 

Jeff  nodded,  but  there  was  a  certain  reluctance  in  his 
manner.  His  whole  heart  was  set  upon  the  search  for 
his  twin  brother.  He  felt  that  his  duty  as  a  cattleman 
scarcely  had  the  right  to  claim  him  at  such  a  time.  But 
the  older  man's  manner  made  it  difficult  to  protest,  and, 
in  deference  to  him,  he  felt  it  would  be  ungenerous  to 
refuse.  After  all  it  only  meant  perhaps  the  delay  of  a 
day  for  his  own  projects. 

"  Then  we'll  feed  and  water  right  here,  Bud,"  he  said 
resignedly.  "  We  can  leave  our  pack  ponies,  and  ride 
light.     There's  five  hours  of  daylight  yet." 

"  Yes,  five  hours  good.  Thanks,  boy.  Don't  you  worry 
a  thing.  We'll  make  this  time  good.  We're  goin'  to  find 
your  Ronald — if  he's  anywheres  around  these  Cathills." 


102  THE  FORFEIT 

The  more  concentrated  the  character,  the  more  sure  its 
power  of  moral  endurance,  so  the  more  acute  its  suffering 
under  adversity.  Such  penalties  lie  ambushed  for  the 
strong,  as  though  in  delight  at  the  immensity  of  the  suf- 
fering which  can  thereby  be  inflicted. 

Such  an  ambush  was  awaiting  Jeffrey  Masters. 

It  came  with  terrifying  suddenness.  Bud  was  on  the 
lead.  The  great  sea  of  blue  grass  had  been  beaten  and 
crushed  by  the  hoofs  of  a  considerable  herd.  There  was 
no  difficulty,  and  the  pace  he  made  was  rapid.  But,  even 
so,  Bud's  keen  eyes  never  left  the  well-defined  trail.  He 
was  reading  it  with  an  understanding  which  might  well 
have  seemed  almost  superhuman.  And  as  he  rode  he 
communicated  odd  fragments  of  his  reading  to  the  man 
behind  him. 

"  It's  queer,"  he  observed  once,  when  they  had  covered 
nearly  two  miles  of  the  track.  "Ther's  a  great  bunch 
of  horsemen  been  over  this.  Kind  o'  seems  to  me  as  if 
ther'  was  as  many  horses  as  steers.  They're  headin' 
northeast,  too." 

Jeff's  eyes  were  as  close  upon  the  trail  as  Bud's,  only 
he  read  with  less  understanding. 

"They  seem  leading  out  of  the  valley,"  he  said. 
"  Maybe  there's  another  camp  way  up  further." 

Suddenly  Bud  drew  rein,  his  great  body  lurching 
forward  in  the  saddle  as  his  horse  "  propped "  itself 
to  a  standstill.  Jeff's  horse  followed  suit  of  its  own 
accord. 

"What's  doing?" 

Jeff's  demand  was  accompanied  by  a  keen  look  into 
the  other's  face. 

Bud's  eyes  were  wide  with  speculation. 


OUTLAND  JUSTICE  103 

11  They've  broke  up — hereabouts,"  he  cried.  "  More'n 
half  the  horses  have  cut  out.  Say,  ther',"  he  went  on 
pointing  away  to  the  right.  "That's  the  way  they've 
took,  clear  across  ther'  to  the  east.  The  herd's  gone  on 
with  jest  a  few  boys  to  handle  it.     Say " 

"Look  I " 

A  curious  suppressed  force  rang  in  Jeff's  exclamation. 
He  was  pointing  at  a  bluff  of  wide-spreading  sturdy  trees 
that  grew  hard  in  against  the  eastern  slope  of  the  valley. 

Bud  followed  the  direction  indicated,  and  that  which  he 
beheld  robbed  him  of  all  inclination  for  further  speech. 

Long  silent  moments  passed.  Moments  fraught  with 
poignant,  stirring  emotions.  Something  painful  was 
slowly  creeping  into  the  eyes  of  both  men  as  they  con- 
tinued to  regard  this  stout  cluster  of  trees. 

"Oaks." 

The  word  was  muttered. 

Jeff  vouchsafed  no  reply,  but  led  the  way  toward  them 
at  a  gallop. 

They  drew  up  almost  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  at  a 
point  where  three  hideous  things  were  hanging  sus- 
pended by  rawhide  ropes.  They  were  swaying  gently, 
stirred  almost  imperceptibly  under  the  pressure  of  the 
light  breeze. 

Bud  sat  stock  still  upon  his  horse.  For  a  moment 
Jeff  remained  at  his  side.  Then  the  latter  stirred.  He 
pressed  his  horse  forward,  urging  it  closer  under  the 
overhanging  boughs.  The  animal  moved  willingly 
enough  for  a  few  yards.  Then  panic  suddenly  beset  it. 
It  shied.  It  reared  and  plunged.  The  fierce  reminder 
of  the  spur  was  powerless  to  affect  it  beyond  driving  it 
to  even  more  strenuous  rebellion.    The  terror-stricken 


104  THE  FORFEIT 

creature  would  not  approach  another  step  in  the  direction 
of  those  ominous  swinging  bodies. 

Jeff  finally  leaped  from  the  saddle  and  released  his  horse. 
It  turned  to  bolt,  but  Bud  reached  its  hanging  reins  and 
secured  it.  Then  he  sat  still,  observing  the  movements 
of  his  companion  with  strained,  intent  gaze. 

Jeff  passed  under  the  great  limbs  of  the  tree.  He  cau- 
tiously approached  the  first  of  the  hanging  bodies.  It 
was  hideous.  There  was  a  bandage  drawn  tightly  over 
the  dead  eyes,  but  its  folds  were  powerless  to  disguise  the 
rest  of  the  contorted  features.  The  head  was  tilted  over 
on  one  side.  Its  flesh  was  ghastly,  and  deep  discolora- 
tions  blotched  it  from  the  neck  up.  The  body  was  clad 
in  the  ordinary  garb  of  the  prairieman,  with  the  loose 
waistcoat  hanging  open  over  a  discolored  cotton  shirt, 
and  the  nether  part  of  it  sheathed  in  dirty  moleskin  trou- 
sers. The  ankles  were  lashed  securely  together,  and  the 
arms  firmly  pinioned. 

For  some  moments  Jeff  stared  up  at  the  dead  man. 
His  blue  eyes  were  quite  unsoftening.  There  was  no  real 
pity  in  him  for  the  fate  of  a  cattle  thief.  He  understood 
only  the  justice  of  it  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  cattle 
grower.  So  his  cold  eyes  gazed  up  at  the  horrid  spec- 
tacle unflinchingly. 

After  some  moments  he  passed  on  to  the  second  body. 
The  same  conditions  prevailed.  A  colored  handkerchief 
concealed  the  glazed  eyes,  and  the  dropping  jaw  dis- 
played the  blackened  cavity  beyond  the  lips. 

He  moved  away  to  the  third.  Its  back  was  turned  to 
him,  and  the  bared  head  displayed  a  close  mass  of  fair 
curling  hair.  In  this  instance  the  bandage  over  the  eyes 
had  fallen  from  its  place,  and  lay  lodged  against  the  raw- 


OUTLAND  JUSTICE  105 

hide  rope  about  the  dead  man's  neck.  He  moved  round 
quickly.  In  a  moment  he  was  facing  the  dreadful  dead 
features. 

He  stood  there  without  a  sound.  But  his  eyes  had 
changed  from  their  cold  regard  to  a  horror  unspeakable. 
Once  his  lips  parted,  and  there  was  an  automatic  effort 
to  moisten  them  with  a  parching  tongue.  He  swallowed 
with  a  visible  effort.  But  no  other  movement  came  from 
him. 

The  moments  passed.  Hideous,  dreadful  moments 
of  an  agony  that  was  displayed  in  the  drawn  lines  which 
had  suddenly  taken  possession  of  his  strong  features. 
It  was  the  face  of  a  man  whose  soul  is  seared  with  the 
blasting  fury  of  a  hell  from  the  sight  of  which  he  is 
powerless  to  withdraw  his  terrified  gaze.  He  knew 
nothing  but  the  agony  which  smote  through  his  every 
sense.  The  world  about  him,  the  place,  even  the  hideous 
swaying  remains  of  a  once  joyous  life  that  confronted 
him.  He  was  blind,  blind  to  it  all,  crushed  beneath  a 
burden  of  agony  which  left  him  stupefied.  His  twin 
brother  Ronald  was  there  before  him,  a  dreadful,  dead 
thing,  hanged  for  a — cattle  thief. 

Bud  gazed  from  the  dead  to  the  living.  His  deep  eyes 
were  full  of  an  understanding  which  required  no  words. 
There  was  that  about  the  dead,  distorted  face  which  was 
unmistakable.  One  look  into  the  dreadful  eyes  of  the 
living  had  told  him  all  he  needed. 

He,  too,  stood  silently  contemplating  the  swaying 
figure.  But  it  was  only  for  a  moment.  Then  he  moved 
swiftly,  actively.  As  he  moved  he  drew  a  sheath  knife 
from  his  belt. 


106  THE  FORFEIT 

He  reached  up.  The  steel  of  the  knife  gleamed.  The 
next  moment  the  dead  thing  was  in  his  arms. 

A  low  fierce  cry  suddenly  broke  the  silence  of  those 
dreadful  shades. 

"  Leave  him  !     Don't  dare,  or — I'll  kill  you  !  " 

Bud's  head  turned,  and  the  muzzle  of  a  gun  touched 
his  cheek.  The  blazing  eyes  behind  it  shone  like  coals  of 
fire  as  they  glared  into  his. 

But  the  great  Bud's  purpose  was  stronger  than  the 
madness  of  the  other's  agony. 

"  Put  up  your  gun,  Jeff,"  he  said,  in  a  deep  gentle 
voice.  "  We're  jest  goin'  to  hide  this  poor  boy  wher'  the 
eyes  o'  men  an'  beasts  can't  see  him.  We're  jest  goin' 
to  hide  him  away  wher'  mebbe  the  good  God' 11  watch 
over  him,  an'  help  him,  an'  surely  will  forgive  him.  You 
ken  jest  help  me,  boy,  to  locate  the  place,  an'  when  we 
find  it  we'll  sort  o'  seal  it  up,  an'  you  ken  hide  the  key 
away  in  your  heart  so  no  one'll  ever  find  it.  Are  you 
goin'  to  help,  Jeff  ?  " 

For  answer  the  gun  was  abruptly  withdrawn.  Then 
Bud  saw  the  stricken  man's  hand  dash  across  his  eyes, 
and,  as  it  passed,  he  realized  the  moisture  of  tears  upon 
the  back  of  it 


CHAPTER  VIII 

JEFF  CLOSES  THE  BOOK 

JU  PENROSE  was  a  mild  sort  of  sun-worshipper.  But 
he  confined  his  regard  to  the  single  blessings  of  light  and 
warmth.  Some  of  his  deity's  idiosyncrasies  were  by  no 
means  blessings  in  his  estimation.  He  blamed  the  sun 
for  the  flies.  He  blamed  it  that  it  made  necessary  the 
adoption  of  light  cotton  shirts,  which  required  frequent 
washing.  He,  furthermore,  blamed  it  for  the  temperature 
of  drinks  in  summer  time,  in  a  place  where  no  ice  was  pro- 
curable. This  he  regarded  as  wholly  unfair.  Then,  too, 
possessing  something  of  an  artistic  eye,  he  failed  to  ap- 
preciate the  necessity  for  changing  the  delicate  hues  o\ 
nature  in  spring  to  a  monotonous  summer  tone  by  the 
overbearing  process  of  continuing  its  spring  blessing  ad 
nauseam.  And  as  for  winter,  it  was  perfectly  ridiculous 
to  turn  off  its  "  hot"  tap  whenlt  was  most  needed.  Yes, 
there  were  moments  when  he  certainly  felt  that  he  could 
order  matters  far  more  pleasantly  if  he  were  given  a  free 
hand. 

Still,  just  now  winter  was  a  long  way  off.  So  that  did 
not  trouble  him  greatly  as  he  lounged  in  his  doorway, 
and  reposefully  contemplated  the  ruddy  noonday  light 
which  was  endeavoring  to  lend  picturesqueness  to  a  scene 
which,  he  assured  himself,  was  an  "  everlastin'  disgrace 
an'  stain  on  the  lousy  pretensions  of  a  museum  of  bum 


108  THE  FORFEIT 

human  intellect."  He  was  referring  to  the  rest  of  the 
buildings  which  comprised  the  township,  as  apart  from 
his  own  "  hotel."  The  word  "  saloon  "  had  been  struck 
out  of  his  vocabulary,  except  for  use  in  scornful  depreci- 
ation of  all  other  enterprises  of  a  character  similar  to  his 
Own. 

Just  now  he  was  chewing  the  cud,  and,  incidentally,  a 
wad  of  tobacco,  of  a  partial  peace.  He  felt  that  the  recent 
break  up  of  the  Lightfoot  gang,  so  successfully  achieved 
through  the  agency  of  hangings  and  shootings,  should 
certainly  contribute  to  his  advantage.  He  argued  that 
the  long-endured  threat  against  Orrville  removed,  money 
should  automatically  become  easier,  and,  consequently,  a 
considerable  vista  of  his  own  personal  prosperity  opened 
out  before  his  practical  imagination. 

Yes,  Ju  was  undoubtedly  experiencing  a  certain  mild 
satisfaction.  But  somehow  his  ointment  was  not  without 
taint.  He  detected  a  fly  in  it.  And  he  hated  flies — even 
in  ointment. 

To  understand  Ju's  feelings  clearly  one  must  appreciate 
the  fact  that  he  loved  dollars  better  than  anything  else  in 
the  world.  And  something  he  hated  with  equal  fervor 
was  to  see  their  flow  diverted  into  any  other  channel  than 
that  of  his  own  pocket.  Ten  thousand  of  these  delectable 
pieces  of  highly  engraved  treasure  had  definitely  flowed 
into  some  pocket  unknown,  as  a  result  of  the  Lightfoot 
gang  episode.  The  whole  transaction  he  felt  was  wicked, 
absolutely  wicked.  What  right  had  any  ten  thousand 
dollars  to  drift  into  any  unknown  pocket  ?  Known,  yes. 
That  was  legitimate.  It  always  left  an  enterprising  indi- 
vidual the  sporting  chance  of  dipping  a  hand  into  it.  But 
the  other  was  an  outrage  against  commercialism.     Why, 


JEFF  CLOSES  THE  BOOK  109 

if  that  sort  of  thing  became  the  general  practice,  "  how," 
he  asked  himself,  "  was  an  honest  trader  to  live  ?  " 

The  enquiry  was  the  result  of  extreme  nervous  irrita- 
tion, and  he  scratched  at  the  roots  of  his  beard  in  a  gen- 
uine physical  trouble  of  that  nature. 

He  was  so  engrossed  upon  his  meditations  that  he  en- 
tirely failed  to  observe  some  mounted  strangers  debouch 
upon  the  market-place  from  the  western  end  of  the  town- 
ship. Nor  was  it  until  they  obstructed  his  view  that  he 
awoke  to  their  presence.  Then  he  became  aware  of  two 
men  on  two  horses,  leading  two  pack  ponies. 

He  scrutinized  them  narrowly  without  shifting  his 
position,  and,  long  before  they  reached  him,  he  decided 
they  were  strangers. 

They  dismounted  in  silence  and  without  haste.  They 
went  round  their  horses  and  loosened  cinchas.  Then 
they  tied  the  four  beasts  to  the  tie-posts  in  front  of  the 
saloon. 

They  approached  the  saloon-keeper.  The  larger  of 
the  two  surveyed  the  unmoved  Ju  with  steady  eyes. 
Then  he  greeted  him  in  deep,  easy  tones. 

"  Howdy,"  he  said.     "  You  run  this  shanty  ?  " 

The  reflection  upon  his  business  house  was  not  lost 
upon  its  proprietor. 

"  Guess  I'm  boss  of  this — hotel." 

"  Ah — hotel."  Bud's  gaze  wandered  over  the  simple 
structure.  It  settled  for  a  moment  upon  a  certain  dis- 
play of  debris,  bottles,  cases,  kegs,  lying  tumbled  at  an 
angle  of  the  building.  Then  it  came  back  to  Ju's  hard 
face,  and,  in  passing,  it  swept  over  the  weather-boarding 
of  the  structure  which  was  plastered  thick  with  paint  to 
rescue  it  from  the  ravages  of  drip  from  the  shingle  roof 


no  THE  FORFEIT 

to  which  there  was  no  guttering.  "  Then  I  guess  we'  J 
get  a  drink." 

By  a  curious  movement  Ju  seemed  to  fall  back  from 
his  position  and  become  swallowed  up  by  the  cavity  be- 
hind him.  And  Bud  and  his  companion  moved  forward 
in  his  wake. 

The  place  was  entirely  empty  of  all  but  the  reek  of 
stale  tobacco,  and  the  curious,  pungent  odor  of  alcohol. 
The  two  customers  lounged  against  the  shabby  bar  in 
that  attitude  which  bespoke  saddle  weariness.  Ju  stood 
ready  to  carry  out  their  orders,  his  busy,  enquiring  mind 
searching  for  an  indication  of  the  strangers'  identity. 

"  Rye  ? "  he  suggested  amiably,  testing,  in  his  own 
fashion,  their  quality. 

But  these  men  displayed  no  enthusiasm. 

"  Got  any  lager?"  demanded  Bud.  "A  long  lager, 
right  off  the  ice." 

"  Ice  ?"  There  was  every  sort  of  emotion  in  the  echo 
of  the  word  as  the  saloon-keeper  glanced  vengefully 
across  at  a  window  through  which  the  sun  was  pouring. 
"  Guess  we  don't  grow  ice  around  these  parts,  'cep'  when 
we  don't  need  it,  an'  I  don't  guess  the  railroad's  dis- 
covered they  hatched  Orrville  out  yet.  We  got  lager 
in  soak,  an'  lager  by  the  keg,  down  in  a  cool  celler.  Ef 
these  things  ain't  to  your  notion  I  don't  guess  you  need 
the  lager  I  kep." 

"  We'll  have  the  bottled  stuff  in  soak.     Long." 

"  Ther's  jest  one  size.  Ef  that  don't  suit-  guess  you 
best  duplicate." 

There  was  no  offense  in  Ju's  manner.  It  was  just  his 
cold  way  of  placing  facts  before  his  customers,  when  they 
were  strangers. 


JEFF  CLOSES  THE  BOOK  in 

He  uncorked  the  bottles  and  set  them  beside  the  long 
glasses,  and  waited  while  Bud  poured  his  out.  Then  he 
accepted  the  price  and  made  change.  Jeff  silently- 
poured  out  his  and  raised  it  to  his  lips. 

"  How,  Bud." 

»  How." 

The  two  men  drank  and  set  down  their  half-emptied 
glasses. 

The  sharp  ears  of  the  saloon-keeper  had  caught  the 
name  "  Bud,"  and  he  now  stood  racking  his  fertile  brains 
to  place  it.  But  the  stranger's  identity  entirely  escaped 
him. 

"  Been  times  around  here,  ain't  ther'  ?  "  Bud  remarked 
casually. 

And  Ju  promptly  seized  the  opportunity. 

"  Times  ?  Sure.  Say,  I  guess  you  don't  belong  around. 
Jest  passin'  thro'  ?  " 

Bud  nodded.  Jeff  had  moved  off  toward  the  window, 
where  he  stood  gazing  out.  The  saloon-keeper's  gaze 
followed  him. 

"  Why,  yes.  We're  passin'  through,"  returned  Bud, 
without  hesitation.  "  You  see,  we  belong  down  south  in 
the  '  T.T.'  an'  <  O '  country." 

"  That  so  ?  "  Ju  reached  a  box  of  cigars  and  thrust 
them  at  the  new  customer.  "Smoke?"  he  enquired. 
His  generosity  was  by  no  means  uncalculated. 

Bud  helped  himself,  and  in  response  to  Ju's  "Your 
friend?"  he  called  across  to  Jeff  at  the  window.  But 
Jeff  shook  his  head,  and  the  saloon-keeper  was  given  an 
opportunity  of  studying  his  set  features,  and  the  prema- 
ture lines  he  saw  graven  upon  them.  He  withdrew  the 
box  and  turned  his  attention  to  the  more  amenable  Bud. 


U2  THE  FORFEIT 

"  It's  a  swell  country  down  your  ways,"  he  observed 
cordially.  Then  he  added,  "  You  ain't  been  cussed  with 
a  gang  o'  toughs  raidin'  stock,  neither,  same  as  we  have 
fer  the  last  fi'  years.  But  they're  out.  Oh,  yes,  they're 
sure  out.  Yes,  siree,  you  guessed  right.  Ther's  sure 
been  some  play  around  here.  As  neat  a  nan  gin'  as  I've 
see  in  thirty-five  year  tryin'  to  figger  out  the  sort  o'  sense 
stewin'  in  the  think  tanks  o'  the  crazy  guys  who  live  in 
cities  an'  make  up  po'try  about  grass.  Mebbe  you've 
heard  all  the  play  ?  " 

Bud  shook  his  head.  He  drank  up  his  lager,  and  took 
the  opportunity  of  glancing  over  his  glass  at  Jeff's  back. 
Then  he  set  his  glass  down  and  ordered  another  bottle 
for  both  of  them. 

"  No,"  he  observed.  "  I  ain't  heard  much.  I  heard 
there's  been  some  hangin'.  The  Lightfoot  gang,  eh  ? 
Seems  to  me  I've  heard  talk  of  'em  down  our  way.  So 
you  boys  here  got  in  on  'em  ?  " 

Ju  set  the  two  fresh  bottles  on  the  counter  while  Bud 
lit  his  cigar. 

"  That's  so,"  he  said  with  appreciation,  and  propped 
his  folded  arms  upon  the  bar.  "  It  sort  o'  come  sudden, 
too."  He  smiled  faintly.  "  It  come  as  I  said  it  would 
right  here  in  this  bar.  The  boys  was  settin'  around 
sousing,  an'  pushin'  round  the  cyards,  an'  the  Vigilante 
Committee  was  settin'  on  a  pow-wow.  I  was  tellin'  'em 
ef  the  folks  had  the  sense  of  a  blind  louse  they'd  dope 
out  a  reward,  an'  make  it  big.  I  guessed  they'd  get  the 
gang  quick  that  way.  Y'see,  it  don't  matter  who  it  is, 
folks  is  all  after  dollars — if  there's  only  enough  of  'em. 
Life's  jest  made  up  of  two  sorts  o'  guys,  the  fellers  with 
dollars  an'  them   without.     Wal,  I   guess  it's  a  sort  o* 


JEFF  CLOSES  THE  BOOK  113 

play  goes  right  on  all  the  time.  You  just  raise  hell 
around  till  you  get  'em,  the  other  fellers  raise  hell  till 
you  ain't.  It's  a  sort  o'  give  and  take,  though  I  reckon 
the  taking  seems  to  be  the  general  scheme  adopted. 
That's  how  it  comes  Lightfoot  an'  his  gang  got  a  nasty 
kink  in  most  o'  their  necks.  It's  them  dollars.  Some 
wise  guy  around  here  jest  took  himself  by  the  neck  and 
squeezed  out  a  present  of  ten  thousand  dollars  to  the 
feller  who'd  sell  up  Lightfoot's  good-will  an'  business. 
What  happened  ?  Why,  it  took  jest  about  twenty-four 
hours  for  the  transaction  to  be  put  through.  Say,  ever 
hear  tell  of  a  time  when  ther'  wa'an't  some  feller  wait- 
ing ready  to  grab  on  to  ten  thousand  dollars  ?  No,  sir. 
You  never  did.  No,  nor  no  one  else,  'cep'  he  spent  the 
whole  of  his  life  in  the  foolish  house." 

"  Some  one  betrayed  'em — for  ten  thousand  dollars  ?  " 

Bud's  question  came  with  a  sharp  edge  to  it. 

"  Don't  guess  *  betray's  '  the  word,  mister.  It  was  jest 
a  commercial  transaction.  You  jest  need  to  get  a  right 
understanding  of  them  things.  When  I  got  something 
to  sell,  an'  you're  yearnin'  to  dope  out  the  dollars  for  it — 
say  ten  thousand  of  'em — why,  I  don't  guess  there's  any- 
thing else  to  it  but  a  straight  business  proposition." 

"  So  you  netted  the  ten  thousand  ?  "  enquired  Bud,  in 
his  simplest  fashion. 

"  Me  ?  Gee  !  Say,  if  them  ten  thousand  dollars  had 
wafted  my  way  I'd  have  set  this  city  crazy  drunk  fer  a 
week.  No,  sir,"  he  added,  with  a  coldly  gloomy  shake 
of  the  head.  "That's  jest  about  the  pain  I'm  sufferin' 
right  now.  Some  mighty  slick  aleck's  helped  hisself  to 
them  dollars,  an'  I  don't  know  who — nor  does  anybody 
else,  'cep'  him  who  paid  'em." 


114      .  THE  FORFEIT 

Bud  realized  the  man's  shameless  earnestness,  but 
passed  it  by.  He  was  seeking  information.  It  was 
what  he  and  Jeff  had  come  for.  The  manner  of  this 
man  was  coldly  callous,  and  he  knew  that  every  word 
he  uttered  was  a  lash  applied  to  the  bruised  soul  of  the 
man  by  the  window.  Irresistible  sympathy  made  him 
turn  about. 

"  Here's  your  lager,  Jeff,"  he  said,  in  his  easiest  fash- 
ion. He  had  no  desire  that  Ju  should  be  made  aware  of 
the  trouble  that  Jeff  was  laboring  under. 

Jeff  replied  at  once.  His  readiness  and  even  cheerful- 
ness of  manner  surprised  Bud.     But  it  relieved  him  as  well. 

"  Bully  1 "  he  cried,  as  he  came  back  to  the  bar.  U  I 
was  just  gettin'  a  look  around  at  the — city."  He  turned 
to  Ju  with  his  shadowy  smile  which  almost  broke  Bud's 
heart.     "  Quite  a  place,  eh  ?  " 

"  Place  ?  Wal,  it's  got  points  I  allow.  So's  hell  ef 
you  kin  look  at  it  right."  Ju  lit  a  cigar  and  hid  nearly 
half  of  it  in  his  capacious  mouth.  "  I'd  say,"  he  went 
on,  with  a  certain  satisfaction,  "  ther's  more  mush- 
headed  souses  in  this  lay  out  to  the  square  yard  than 
I've  ever  heard  tell  of  in  any  other  city.  Ef  it  wa'an't 
that  way  I  couldn't  see  myself  wastin'  a  valuable  life 
lookin'  at  grass,  hearin'  talk  of  grass,  smellin'  grass,  an' 
durned  nigh  eatin'  grass.  I  tell  you  right  here  it  takes 
me  countin'  my  legs  twice  a  day  to  keep  me  from  the 
delusion  I  got  four,  an'  every  time  I  got  to  shake  my 
head  at  some  haf  soused  bum  who's  needin'  credit  I'm 
scared  to  death  my  blamed  ears' 11  start  right  in  flappin'. 
Why,  yes,  I  guess  it's  some  place — if  you  don't  know  no 
other." 

Bud  was  eager  to  get  to  the  end  of  the  task  he  had  as- 


\ 


JEFF  CLOSES  THE  BOOK  115 

sumed  for  his  friend.  He  wanted  the  facts,  all  the  facts 
as  far  as  they  were  available,  of  the  terrible  enactments 
in  that  valley  of  his  early  youth. 

"  An'  who  antied  the  price  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Who  ?  Why,  the  President  of  the  Western  Union 
Cattle  Breeders'  Association — Dug  McFarlane." 

M  And  you  don't  know  who — accepted  it  ?  " 

It  was  Jeff  who  put  the  question,  and  Bud,  looking  on, 
saw  the  steely  gleam  that  lit  the  man's  eyes  as  he  spoke. 

But  Ju's  amiability  was  passing.  He  was  getting  tired 
of  a  subject  which  dealt  with  another  man's  profit.  He 
rolled  his  cigar  across  his  mouth. 

"  Here.  Guess  I  best  tell  you  the  yarn  as  we  know  it. 
Y'see,"  he  added  regretfully,  "  we  ain't  learned  a  heap 
'cep'  jest  the  racket  of  it.  Dug  set  up  the  reward  over- 
night. Next  night  twenty-five  of  the  boys  rode  out  with 
him  to  the  hills.  Ther'  was  some  guy  with  'em  leadin'. 
But  none  of  the  boys  come  up  with  him.  He  rode  with 
Dug.  We've  all  guessed,  but  I  don't  reckon  we  know, 
or' 11  ever  know.  You  see,  he  got  shot  up  they  say  by 
Lightfoot  himself.  However,  it  don't  signify.  I  got  my 
notions  'bout  it,  an'  anyway  I  guess  they're  jest  my  own. 
The  boys  guess  it  was  one  of  the  gang  itself.  Mebbe  it 
was.  Can't  rightly  say.  After  they'd  located  the  camp 
they  set  out  to  surround  it.  It  was  in  a  bluff.  The 
scrap  started  right  away,  an'  there  was  a  deal  o' 
shootin'.  One  or  two  o'  the  boys  got  shot  up  bad. 
Then  some  one  fired  the  bluff,  an'  burned  'em  right  out 
like  a  crowd  of  gophers.  After  that  the  scrap  came  good 
an'  plenty,  an'  it  seems  to've  lasted  nigh  an  hour.  Any- 
ways, they  got  three  of  'em.  They  shot  up  several 
others,  an'  not  more  than  three  got  clear  away." 


u6  THE  FORFEIT 

"  An'  what  about  Lightfoot  ?  "  It  was  Bud  who  spoke. 
His  voice  was  changed  from  its  usual  deep  tone.  It  was 
sharp,  and  almost  impatient. 

"  They  got  him,"  said  Ju,  with  a  delight  so  evident 
that  Bud  felt  like  killing  him  for  it.  "  Oh,  yes,  they  got 
him,  sure.  A  dandy  gent  with  his  blue  eyes  an'  curly, 
tow  hair.  They  don't  guess  that's  his  right  name  tho'. 
But  it  don't  signify.  He  was  the  boss  all  right,  all  right, 
an'  they  took  him,  an'  hanged  him  with  the  other  two, 
right  out  of  hand.  Gee,  I'd  have  give  a  deal  to  have 
seen " 

"  We'll  have  to  be  pushing  on  now,  Bud." 

Jeff  spoke  with  his  head  bent,  examining  the  face  of 
his  gold  timepiece.  Bud  glanced  at  him.  He  could  see 
the  ghastly  hue  of  the  averted  features,  and  his  answer 
came  on  the  instant. 

"  You  git  the  ponies  cinched  up,  Jeff,"  he  said  quickly. 
"  I'll  be  right  with  you." 

Ju  watched  Jeff  hurry  out  of  the  bar.  Then  his  eyes 
came  searchingly  back  to  Bud's  grimly  set  face. 

"  Kind  o'  seems  in  a  hurry,  don't  he  ?  "  he  demanded, 
with  a  curious  look  in  his  hard  eyes.  "  Looks  sick,  too. 
Say,  I  didn't  git  his  name  right.  Mebbe  he's  travelin' 
around  incog. — ain't  that  the  word  ?  " 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  suggestion  in  the  man's 
half-smiling,  half-sneering  manner.  The  ranchman  under- 
stood it  only  too  well.  He  understood  most  of  the  ways 
and  expressions  of  the  men  of  the  prairie.  The  hot  blood 
surged  under  his  calm  exterior.  His  gray  eyes,  so  ac- 
customed to  smiling,  snapped  dangerously.  But  his 
reply  came  with  the  same  ease  which  he  had  displayed 
most  of  the  time. 


JEFF  CLOSES  THE  BOOK  117 

"  Wal,  I  don't  guess  ther's  no  myst'ry  'bout  either  of 
us,  which  you  kind  o'  seem  you'd  like  to  think.     Jeff 

Masters  of  the  '  O 's  '  is  well  enough  known  to  most 

folks,  who  got  any  sort  o'  knowledge  of  these  parts.  An' 
ther's  quite  a  few  folks  around  here,  including  Dug  Mc- 
Farlane,  li'ble  to  remember  the  name  of  Bud  Tristram,  of 
the  *  T.T.'s.'  But  you're  sure  right  in  guessin'  he's  in  a 
hurry  to  quit.  Ther's  some  places,  an'  some  folks,  it  ain't 
good  to  see  a  heap  of.  Ther's  fellers  with  minds  like 
sinks,  an'  others  with  natures  like  rattlers.  Neither  of 
them  things  is  as  wholesome  as  a  Sunday-school,  I  allow. 
Jeff  ain't  yearnin'  to  explore  no  sinks,  human  or  any 
other.  An'  I've  generally  noticed  his  favorite  pastime  is 
killin'  rattlers.  So  it's  jest  about  the  only  thing  to  do — 
quit  this  saloon,  same  as  I'm  goin'  to  do.  But  say,  'fore 
I  go  I'd  jest  like  to  hand  you  this.  Justice  is  justice,  an' 
we  all  need  to  take  our  dope  when  it  comes  our  way. 
But  ther'  ain't  no  right  on  this  blamed  earth  fer  any  feller 
to  whoop  it  up  at  another  feller's  misdoin's,  an'  his  ulti- 
mate undoin'.  An'  you  kin  take  it  how  you  fancy  when 
I  say  only  the  heart  of  a  louse  could  feel  that-a-way — an' 
that's  about  the  lowest  I  know  how  to  hand  you." 

Bud's  eyes  were  shining  dangerously.  They  were 
squarely  looking  into  the  hard  face  of  the  saloon-keeper. 
Not  the  movement  of  an  eyelid  escaped  him.  He  literally 
seemed  to  devour  the  unwholesome  picture  confronting 
him.  The  aggressive  chin  beard,  the  continual  mastica- 
tion of  the  cigar  which  protruded  from  the  corner  of  the 
mouth.  There  was  deadly  fury  lurking  behind  Ju's  cruel 
eyes.  But  the  looked-for  physical  display  was  withheld, 
and  Bud  finally  turned  and  walked  slowly  out  of  the  bar. 


n8  THE  FORFEIT 

It  was  some  minutes  since  a  word  had  passed  between 
the  two  men.  Jeff  had  nothing  to  say,  and  Bud's  sym- 
pathy was  too  deep  for  words.  He  was  waiting  for  the 
younger  man  to  fight  his  battle  to  its  logical  end.  He 
knew,  only  too  well,  all  that  Jeff  had  suffered  since  the 
moment  of  that  gruesome  discovery  in  the  Cathills  valley. 
It  had  been  no  figure  of  speech  when  Jeff  had  described 
his  twin  brother  as  part  of  himself.  The  shock  the  man 
had  received  was,  to  Bud's  mind,  as  though  his  heart  had 
been  torn  asunder.  Hanged  as  a  cattle  thief  1  Was  there 
anything  more  dire,  more  terrible  in  the  imagination  of 
man  than  to  suddenly  find  that  his  well-loved  brother, 
twin  body  of  his  own,  was  a  cattle  thief,  possibly  a  mur- 
derer, and  had  been  hanged  by  his  fellow-men  ?  It  was 
a  thought  to  leave  the  simple  Bud  staggered.  And  for 
the  victim  of  the  shock  it  might  well  mean  the  mental 
breaking  point. 

Jeff  was  fighting  out  his  battle  with  an  almost  super- 
human courage.  Bud  knew  that.  It  was  written  in 
every  detail  of  his  attitude.  In  the  straining  of  his  blue 
eyes,  in  the  deep  knitting  of  his  fair  strong  brows,  in  the 
painful  lines  ploughing  deeper  and  deeper  about  his 
mouth,  and  the  set  of  his  strong  jaws. 

No.  There  was  no  thought  of  breaking  in  upon  the 
boy's  black  moments  of  suffering.  He  must  fight  his 
own  battle  now,  once  and  for  all.  When  victory  had 
been  achieved,  then  perhaps  his  sympathy  might  become 
helpful.  But  till  then  nothing  but  the  necessities  of  their 
journey  must  be  allowed  to  intrude  between  them. 

So  they  rode  over  the  southern  trail.  The  noontide 
sun  scorched  the  parching  earth  with  a  blistering  heat, 
drinking  up  the  last  moisture  which  the  tall  prairie  grass 


JEFF  CLOSES  THE  BOOK  119 

sought  to  secrete  at  its  attenuated  roots.  The  world 
about  them  was  unchanged.  Every  scene  was  similar  in 
its  characteristics  to  all  that  which  had  become  their  lives. 
Yet  Bud  knew  that  for  one  of  them,  at  least,  the  whole  of 
life,  and  everything  pertaining  to  it,  had  been  completely 
and  terribly  distorted. 

But  the  character  of  Jeffrey  Masters  was  stronger  and 
fiercer  than  Bud  knew.  For  all  his  suffering  there  was 
no  yielding  in  him.  There  had  been  moments  when  his 
soul  had  cried  out  in  agony.  There  had  been  moments 
when  the  hideousness  of  his  weak  brother's  fall  had  driven 
him  to  the  verge  of  madness.  But  with  each  yielding  to 
suffering  had  come  a  rally  of  passionate  force  that  would 
not  be  overborne,  and  gradually  mastery  supervened. 

Ten  miles  out  of  Orrville  on  the  homeward  journey 
Bud  received  his  first  intimation  that  the  battle  was 
waning.  It  came  almost  as  a  shock.  They  had  passed 
a  long  stretch  of  flat  grass-land,  and  were  breasting  an 
incline.  Jeff,  on  the  lead,  had  reined  his  horse  down  to  a 
walk.  In  a  moment  they  were  riding  abreast,  with  Bud's 
pack  pony  in  between  them.  Jeff  turned  his  bloodshot 
eyes  upon  his  friend,  then  they  turned  again  to  the  trail. 

"  There's  ^nothing  now,  Bud,  but  to  get  ahead  with  all 
our  plans  and  schemes,"  he  said.  "  We  must  drive  ahead 
without  any  looking  back.  There's  still  things  in  life,  I 
guess,  that's  worth  while,  and  I'd  say  not  the  least  of  'em 
is — work." 

He  paused.  He  had  been  gazing  straight  ahead  to 
disguise  his  effort.  Now  he  turned  and  looked  into  the 
face  of  his  friend,  and  thrust  his  hat  back  on  his  head. 

"  It's  been  tough,  Bud.  So  tough  I  don't  know  how  I 
got  through.     Guess  I  shouldn't  have  without  you.     You 


120  THE  FORFEIT 

see,  Bud,  you  never  said  a  thing,  and — and  that  saved  me. 
Guess  I'm  sort  of  tired  now.  Tired  of  thinking,  tired  of 
— everything.  But  it's  over,  and  now  I  sort  of  feel  I've 
got  to  get  busy,  or  Til  forget  how  to  play  the  man.  I 
don't  guess  I'll  ever  hope  to  forget.  No,  I  don't  want  to 
forget.  I  couldn't,  just  as  I  couldn't  forget  that  there's 
some  one  in  the  world  took  ten  thousand  dollars  as  the 
price  of  Ronny's  poor  foolish  life.  Oh,  it's  pretty  bad," 
he  sighed  wearily.  "  But — I've  closed  the  book,  Bud, 
and  please  God  I'll  never  open  it  again." 


CHAPTER  IX 

FOUR  YEARS  LATER 

Nan  Tristram  smiled  to  herself  as  she  sat  in  the  com- 
fortable rocker  before  the  open  French  window  which 
gave  on  to  the  wide  wooden  balcony  beyond.  The  view 
she  had  was  one  of  considerable  charm,  for  Aston's  Hotel 
was  situated  facing  one  end  of  Maple  Avenue,  looking 
straight  down  its  length,  which  was  at  once  the  principal 
and  most  beautiful  thoroughfare  in  the  picturesque  west- 
ern city  of  Calthorpe. 

But  her  smile  had  nothing  to  do  with  anything  the 
prospect  yielded  her.  Its  beauties  were  undeniable  ;  she 
had  admitted  them  to  herself  many  times.  But  she  knew 
them  with  that  intimacy  which  robs  things  of  their  first 
absorbing  charm.  The  wide-spreading  maple  trees,  which 
so  softened  down  the  cold  beauty  of  the  large  stone- 
fronted  residences  lining  the  avenue,  were  always  a  source 
of  soothing  influence  in  the  excited  delight  of  a  visit  to 
this  busy  and  flourishing  city.  Then  the  vista  of  lofty 
hills  beyond  the  far  limits  of  the  town,  with  their  purpling 
tints,  their  broken  facets,  their  dimly  defined  woodland 
belts,  they  made  such  a  wonderful  backing  to  the  civilized 
foreground. 

Nan  Tristram  loved  the  place.  For  her,  full  of  the 
dreams  of  youth,  Calthorpe  was  the  hub  of  all  that 
suggested  life  and  gaiety.  It  was  the  one  city  she 
knew.     It  was  the  holiday  resort  of  the  girl  born  and 


122  THE  FORFEIT 

bred  to  the  arduous,  and  sometimes  monotonous  life  of 
the  plains. 

But  it  was,  in  reality,  a  place  of  even  greater  signifi- 
cance. Nan  saw  it  only  as  it  appealed  to  her  ardent 
fancy.  But  Calthorpe  was  a  flourishing  and  buoyant  city 
of  "  live "  people,  who  were  fully  aware  of  its  favorable 
possibilities  as  the  centre  of  the  richest  agricultural  region 
in  the  whole  of  the  State  of  Montana. 

It  was  overflowing  with  prosperity.  The  ranching 
community,  and  the  rich  grain  growers  for  miles  around, 
poured  their  wealth  into  it,  and  sought  its  light-hearted 
life  for  the  amusement  of  their  families  and  themselves. 
Its  social  life  was  the  life  of  the  country,  and  to  take  part 
in  it  needed  the  qualification  of  many  acres,  or  much 
stock,  a  bank  balance  that  required  no  careful  scrutiny, 
and  a  temperament  calculated  to  absorb  readily  the  joy 
of  living. 

It  was  something  of  this  joy  of  living  which  was  stirring 
now,  lighting  the  girl's  soft  brown  eyes  with  that  tender 
whimsical  smile  which  was  never  very  far  from  them. 
She  was  resting  after  the  early  excitements  of  the  day. 
It  was  her  twenty-second  birthday,  and,  in  consequence, 
with  so  devoted  a  father,  a  day  of  no  small  importance. 
She  had  been  warned  by  that  solicitous  parent  to  "  go — 
an'  have  a  sleep,  so  you  don't  peter  right  out  when  the 
fun  gets  good  an'  plenty."  But  Nan  had  no  use  for  sleep 
just  now.  She  had  no  use  for  anything  that  might  rob 
her  of  one  moment  of  the  delight  and  excitement  of  the 
Calthorpe  Cattle  Week,  as  it  was  called.  Therefore  she 
undutifully  abandoned  herself  to  a  pleasurable  review  of 
events  whilst  waiting  for  the  next  act  in  the  day's  play 
to  begin. 


FOUR  YEARS  LATER  123 

And  what  a  review  it  made  in  her  understanding  of  the 
life  about  her.  It  was  four  years  since  her  father  and  Jeff 
Masters  had  signed  their  partnership,  and  she  knew  that 
to-day,  on  the  second  day  of  the  week,  the  triumph  of  the 
great  "Obar"  Ranch,  which  her  father  and  Jeffrey  Mas- 
ters had  so  laboriously  and  patiently  built  up,  was  to  be 
completed.  Now,  even  while  she  sat  there  gazing  from 
her  window  at  the  panorama  of  life  passing  up  and  down 
the  broad  expanse  of  Maple  Avenue,  the  Council  of  the 
Western  Union  Cattle  Breeders'  Association  was  sitting  for 
its  annual  conference  and  election  of  officers.  And  had 
she  not  already  been  confidentially  warned  that  Jeff  was 
to  be  the  forthcoming  year's  president  ? 

It  was  the  crowning  event  in  the  long  dreamed  dreams 
of  the  two  men  whom  she  frankly  admitted  to  herself  were 
nearest  and  dearest  to  her.  Why  should  she  not  admit 
it  ?  Her  father  ?  Ah,  yes,  her  father  was  the  most  per- 
fect, kindly,  sympathetic  father  that  ever  lived.  And 
Jeff?  A  warm  thrill  swept  through  her  heart  and  set  it 
beating  tumultuously.  Jeff  was  her  whole  sum  and  sub- 
stance of  life  itself. 

Well  enough  she  knew  that  no  other  bond  than  that  of 
friendship  existed  between  them ;  that  no  word  had  ever 
passed  between  them  which  might  not  have  passed  in  the 
daily  intercourse  between  brother  and  sister.  But  this 
did  not  cause  her  to  shrink  from  the  admission.  Jeff  was 
her  whole  horizon  in  life.  There  was  no  detail  of  her 
focus  which  was  not  occupied  by  the  image  of  the  man 
whom  she  regarded  as  the  genius  of  their  fortunes. 

There  were  moments  enough  when  she  realized  with 
something  akin  to  dismay  that  Jeff  and  she  were  friends. 
But  her  gentle  humor  always  served  her  at  such  mo- 


I24  THE  FORFEIT 

merits.  And  there  was  always  the  lukewarm  consolation 
that  there  was  no  other  woman  who  had  even  a  similar 
claim.  Therefore  she  hugged  her  secret  to  herself,  and 
only  gazed  upon  it  in  such  moments  of  happy  dreaming 
as  the  present. 

And  just  now  they  were  happy  moments.  How  could 
it  be  otherwise  in  a  girl  so  healthy,  and  with  such  a  depth 
of  human  feeling  and  with  such  a  capacity  for  sheer  en- 
joyment of  the  simple  pleasures  which  came  her  way  ? 
What  an  evening  yet  confronted  her  in  this  brief  week  of 
holiday  from  the  claims  of  the  green-brown  plains  of 
summer.  She  must  be  ready  at  seven  o'clock  for  the 
reception  at  the  City  Hall.  She  had  a  new  gown  for 
that  particular  event,  which  had,  amongst  others,  been 
bought  in  New  York.  It  had  cost  one  hundred  and 
thirty  dollars,  an  unthinkable  price  it  had  seemed,  but 
dismissed  as  something  too  paltry  to  be  considered  by 
the  open-handed  ranchman  whom  she  claimed  as  father. 

She  was  to  assist  Jeff  and  her  father  in  receiving  the 
guests,  who  would  represent  all  the  heads  of  their  cattle 
world,  and  their  friends,  and  their  wives,  and  their 
daughters.  And  after  that  the  banquet,  which,  since  the 
inauguration  of  the  Association,  had  always  taken  place, 
here  at  Aston's  Hotel 

There  would  be  speeches.  Jeff  would  speak,  and  her 
father — no,  she  hoped  he  wouldn't  speak.  Her  smile 
deepened.  He  had  such  a  way  of  saying  just  what  came 
into  his  funny,  simple  old  head,  and  such  a  curious  vocab- 
ulary.    Then,  after  the  banquet,  the — Ball  I 

The  girl  emitted  a  deep  ecstatic  sigh.  The  ball !  It 
was  the  crowning  glory,  and — she  had  a  beautiful  new 
gown    for    each    event.      It  was  a  ravishing  thought. 


FOUR  YEARS  LATER  125 

Perhaps  a  mere  man  may  be  forgiven  his  lack  of  im- 
agination in  his  appreciation  of  such  perfect,  unutterable 
delight.  But  Nan  had  no  cloud  to  obscure  her  sun.  The 
labor  of  dressing  afresh,  three  times  in  one  evening  with- 
out a  maid,  except  the  questionable  assistance  of  a  hotel 
chambermaid,  had  no  terrors  for  her — none  whatever. 

Her  day-dreaming  was  interrupted  by  an  immoderate 
thump  on  the  door.  She  turned  her  head  at  once,  her 
pretty  dancing  eyes  alight  with  expectancy. 

"  That  you,  Dad  ?  "  she  called. 

"Sure,  Nan."  Then  came  a  fumbling  at  the  door 
handle. 

11  You  can  come  right  in,"  the  girl  cried,  without  mov- 
ing from  her  chair. 

The  door  was  thrust  open,  and  the  sunburnt  face  with 
its  shock  of  curling  iron  gray  hair  and  whiskers  appeared 
round  it.  The  deep-set  eyes  surveyed  the  room,  and 
took  on  a  look  of  deep  concern. 

"  Say,  Nan,"  he  cried,  "  you'll  never  git  fixed  in  time. 
I  jest  give  you  the  limit  of  time  before  I  got  around. 
You  see,  I  didn't  fancy  you  not  gettin'  a  good  slep." 

The  girl  shook  her  pretty  head  and  smiled  as  she 
observed  the  careful  toilet  she  felt  sure  her  father  had 
spent  the  whole  afternoon  upon.  She  sprang  from  her 
chair  and  surveyed  him  critically,  with  her  head  judicially 
poised  on  one  side,  and  her  pretty  ripe  lips  slightly 
pursed. 

"Everything's  bully  but  that  bow  tie,"  she  declared, 
after  a  considering  pause.  "  Just  come  right  here  and 
I'll  fix  it.  Say,  Dad,  I  envy  you  men.  Was  there  ever 
a  nicer  looking  suit  for  men  than  evening  clothes?  I'm 
— kind  of  proud  of  my  Daddy,  with  his  wide  chest  and 


126  THE  FORFEIT 

good  figure.  And  that  white  waistcoat.  My,  but  you 
don't  look  as  if  you'd  ever  branded  a  calf  in  your  life. 
It's  only  your  dear  handsome  face  gives  you  away,  and 
— and  the  backs  of  your  hands." 

Nan  laughed  as  she  retied  the  tie  to  her  satisfaction, 
the  fashion  in  which  a  girl  loves  to  see  a  bow  tied. 
The  man  submitted  meekly,  but  with  concern  for  her  final 
remark. 

"But  I  scrubbed  'em  both — sore,"  he  declared  anx- 
iously. 

11 1  don't  mean  they're  dirty,  Daddy,"  the  girl  laughed. 
"  Was  there  ever  such  a  simple,  simple  soul  ?  It's  the 
wholesome  mahogany  tan  which  the  wind  and  the  sun 
have  dyed  them.  Say,  there,  get  a  peek  at  yourself  in 
that  glass."  She  thrust  him  toward  a  wall  mirror.  "  It's 
not  girls  only  who  need  a  mirror,  when  a  man  is  good  to 
look  at,  Daddy,  is  it  ?  Honest  ?  It  doesn't  make  you 
hate  yourself,  nor  feel  foolish.  I  guess  there's  men  folks 
who'd  have  you  think  that  way,  but  if  I  know  anything 
they'd  hate  to  be  without  a  mirror  when  they're  fixing 
themselves  for  a  party  where  there's  to  be  some  nice  look- 
ing women,  and  where  they're  to  be  something  better 
than  just  a  '  stray '  blown  in." 

Bud  laughed  at  the  rapid  flow  of  the  girl's  banter. 
But  he  had  by  no  means  forgotten  his  own  concern. 

"  But,  say,  Nan,  you  hain't  got  time  for  foolin' 
around.  You  surely  hain't.  It's  haf  after  five,  an' 
we're  due  at  the  City  Hall  seven,  sharp.  Y'see,  you 
ain't  like  us  fellers  who  don't  need  no  fixin'  to  speak  of. 
An'  you're  helpin'  us  to  receive  the  folks " 

Nan's  delighted  laugh  rippled  through  the  pleasant 
room. 


FOUR  YEARS  LATER  127 

"  Oh,  my  Daddy,"  she  cried,  with  wide,  accusing  eyes, 
"  you're  the  best  laugh  in  a  month."  Then  she  held  up 
one  admonishing  finger  before  her  dancing  eyes.  "  Now 
the  truth.  What  was  the  minute  you  started  to  make 
yourself — pretty  ?  " 

She  sat  herself  upon  a  table  before  him  with  the 
evident  purpose  of  enjoying  to  the  full  the  delighted 
feelings  of  the  moment. 

Bud  eyed  her  steadily.  He  knew  he  was  to  be  cor- 
nered. Nor  would  it  be  for  the  first  time.  The  relation 
between  these  two  was  that  of  a  delightful  companion- 
ship in  which  the  frequent  measuring  of  wit  held  no  incon- 
siderable place  amidst  a  deep  abiding  affection. 

"  Say — a  touch  of  the  north  wind  around,  Nan,  eh  ?  " 
he  smiled. 

11  Never  mind  the  north  wind,  Daddy,"  Nan  laughed. 
"Just  when?    That's  what  I  need  to  know  now." 

The  man's  fingers  sought  his  crisply  curling  hair. 

"  No,  no,"  cried  Nan,  in  pretended  alarm.  "  Guess 
you're  going  to  undo  an  hour's  work  that  way." 

Bud  dropped  his  hand  in  real  dismay. 

"  Guess  I  plumb  forgot.  Wal,  say,  since  you  got  to 
know,  I'd  say  it  must  ha'  bin  right  after  din — I  mean 
luncheon.     You  see,  I'd " 

"Ah,  say  three  o'clock."  Nan  leaned  forward,  her 
pretty  face  supported  on  the  knuckles  of  her  clasped 
hands,  her  elbows  resting  upon  her  knees.  "  Oh,  Daddy 
— and  you  aren't  due  at  the  party  till  seven.  Four 
hours.  Four  valuable  hours  sitting  around  in  your  dandy 
new  suit  of  evening  clothes.  Vanity.  Pure  vanity. 
We're  all  the  same,  men  who  don't  need — fixing,  and 
women  who  do.     Only  you  men  won't  admit  it.     Women 


128  THE  FORFEIT 

do.  They  surely  do.  Any  woman's  ready  to  admit  she'd 
rather  look  nicer  than  any  other  woman  than  be  all  sorts 
of  a  girl  other  ways.  And  though  they  don't  ever  reckon 
to  admit  it,  men  just  feel  that  way,  too.  Oh,  I  guess  I 
know.  The  boys  are  just  yearning  for  the  girls  to  think 
there's  nothing  but  big  '  thinks '  moving  around  in  their 
well-greased  heads.  And  they'd  hate  a  girl  who  got  the 
notion  they  had  time  to  stand  around  gawking  in  a 
mirror  to  see  their  clothes  set  right,  or  study  the  look 
they're  going  to  pour  into  the  china  blue  eyes  of  some 
tow-headed  bundle  who  knows  his  bank  wad  down  to  the 
last  cent." 

She  sighed  heavily,  but  her  eyes  were  literally  dancing. 

"  But  it's  kind  of  nice  that  boys  act  that  way,"  she  went 
on.  "  It  does  give  a  girl  a  chance  to  think  him  all  sorts  of  a 
god  for — a  while.  Say,  if  she  knew  things  just  as  they 
are,  where'd  she  find  that  scrap  of  romance  which  makes 
life  all  sunshine  and  storm  clouds,  instead  of  the  monoto- 
nous gray  it  really  is  ?  " 

She  pointed  at  the  snowy  bed  laden  with  the  precious 
costumes  she  must  use  before  the  night  was  out. 

"  Say,  wouldn't  it  be  just  awful  if  every  girl  knew  that 
the  man  she'd — marked  down  for  her  own,  worried 
around  with  things  like  that  before  every  party  he  was 
to  take  her  to,  same  as  she  does  ?  I  guess  she'll  learn  it 
all  later  when  she  marries  him,  and  has  two  folks  to 
worry  for  instead  of  one.  But,  meanwhile,  she  just 
dreams  that  he's  dreaming  those  ■  big  thinks '  that's 
going,  some  time,  to  set  a  dreaming  world  wide  awake 
to  the  mighty  '  thinks '  she  dreams  into  her  beau's  head." 

Then  she  began  to  laugh,  and  the  infection  of  it  caught 
her  father,  who  gurgled  heavily  in  chorus. 


FOUR  YEARS  LATER  129 

"  Say,  wouldn't  it  be  a  real  circus  if  a  big,  strong  man 
had  to  act  the  same  as  us  poor  women  ?  I  mean  when 
we're  scheming  to  stir  up  a  sensation  in  the  hearts  of 
men,  and  in  the  envy  depot  of  other  girls,  when  we  enter 
the  portals  of  a  swell  social  gathering.  Now  Jeff.  Say, 
my  Daddy,  can  you  see  him  sort  of  mincing  across  the 
floor,"  she  cried,  springing  from  her  seat  and  pantomim- 
ing across  the  room,  "  smiling,  and  smirking  and  bowing, 
this  way  and  that,  all  done  up  in  fancy  bows,  and  sheeny 
satins,  and — and  with  combs  in  his  sleek  hair  to  hold  it 
in  place,  and  with  a  jeweled  tiara  set  on  top  of  it?  And 
then — yes,  just  a  teeny  tiny  touch  of  powder  on  his  nose  ? 
My  word  1 " 

A  happy  chorus  of  laughter  rang  through  the  room  as 
she  returned  to  her  seat,  Bud's  coming  in  great  un- 
restrained gusts.  They  were  like  two  irresponsible  chil- 
dren rather  than  father  and  daughter. 

"  Oh,  dear.  And  you,  too,"  laughed  Nan.  "  We  can't 
leave  you  out  of  the  picture.  Being  of  more  mature 
years  I  guess  you'd  sweep  in — that's  the  way — sweep  in 
gowned — at  your  age  you  don't  dance  around  in  *  frocks' 
— in  something  swell,  and  rich,  and  of  sober  hue.  Oh, 
dear,  oh,  dear.  Guess  we'd  have  to  match  your  mahog- 
any face.  Wine  color,  eh  ?  No  'cute  little  bows  for  you. 
Just  beads  and  bugles,  whatever  they  are.  But  we'd  let 
you  play  around  with  some  tinted  mixing  of  powder  for 
your  nose,  or — or  we'd  sure  spoil  the  picture  to  death. 
My,  I'd  die  laughing." 

Bud's  amusement  threatened  to  burst  the  white  bonds 
which  held  his  vast  neck. 

"  Oh,  quit  it,  Nan,"  he  cried,  with  his  beaming  face 
rapidly  purpling.     Then   he   struggled   for   seriousness, 


130  THE  FORFEIT 

"I  didn't  get  around  to  listen  to  your  fooling  child." 
Then  he  bestirred  himself  to  a  great  display  of  parental 
admonishment.  "  Now,  see  right  here,  Nan,  I'll  get  back 
in  an  hour.  Maybe  Jeffs  fixin'  himself  the  way  you  said. 
I  can't  jest  say.  But  anyways  he's  the  big  feller  to-night, 
an'  it's  up  to  you  to  worry  out  so  you  can  be  a  credit  to 
him,  an'  me,  an'  the  '  Obar.' "  Then  he  came  across  to 
her  and  took  her  affectionately  by  the  shoulders,  and 
gazed  down  into  her  face  with  twinkling,  kindly  eyes. 
"  Say,  you  got  more  to  work  on  than  most  gals.  You 
sure  have,  Nan.  Yep.  Your  poor  ma  was  a  pictur',  an' 
you're  a  pictur'.  An'  I  ain't  goin'  to  say  which  of  you 
had  claim  for  the  best  framing.  Anyway,  what  you  have 
in  your  pretty  face  you  owe  to  the  dear  woman  who 
never  had  a  chance  of  the  framing  you  can  have.  So 
jest  remember  it,  Nan — and  thank  her." 

Nan's  eyes  had  completely  sobered  at  the  mention  of 
her  dead  mother,  whom  she  scarcely  remembered,  and 
earnestness  and  affection  replaced  all  her  mirth. 

"Maybe  I  owe  it  her,"  she  said,  suddenly  releasing 
herself  from  the  heavy  hands,  and  rising  from  her  seat. 
Then  she  reached  up  and  slipped  her  soft  arms  about  the 
man's  neck.  "  And  what  do  I  owe  to  you  ?  Nothing  ? 
Ah,  my  Daddy,  I  guess  you  can  shake  your  funny  head 
till  you  muss  up  its  contents  to  an  addle.  I'll  not  forget 
what  I  owe  my  momma,  and  just  thank  her  all  I  know, 
but  I'm  thanking  you  too — just  as  hard." 

She  tiptoed  until  she  was  able  to  kiss  him  on  the 
cheek.  Then  her  ready  smile  broke  out  afresh,  and  she 
gently  pushed  him  toward  the  door. 

"  Who  is  it  wasting  my  time  ?  There,"  she  cried,  as 
she  opened  the  door,  and  her  father  vanished  through 


FOUR  YEARS  LATER  i3I 

it,  "  get  right  out,  and  don't  you  dare  come  back  for  an 
hour." 

The  ranchman's  laugh  echoed  down  the  corridor  as  he 
moved  away.  Then  Nan,  practical  and  sober  once  more, 
closed  the  door  and  rang  for  the  chambermaid. 


Whatever  success  could  be  claimed  for  the  men  who 
had  founded  and  built  up  the  "  Obar  M  Ranch,  and  it  was 
more  than  considerable,  the  triumph  of  that  night  was  in 
no  small  measure  to  the  credit  of  Nan  Tristram. 

But  when  it  was  all  over,  when  the  last  of  the  three 
beautiful  gowns  had  been  tucked  tenderly  away  in  the 
drawers  which  were  their  temporary  home,  and  Nan 
was  left  to  the  night  solitude  in  which  to  go  over  once 
more  in  her  secret  thoughts  each  keenly  vivid  detail  of 
the  kaleidoscopic  play  of  events  as  they  had  swept  past 
her  during  the  evening,  they  found  her  soberly  wonder- 
ing if,  after  all,  the  anticipated  delight  had  been  realized. 
Was  it  possible  in  all  that  unquestioned  success  there  had 
been  no  delight,  no  real  enjoyment  at  all  ?  It  seemed  im- 
possible. It  was  impossible,  and  she  tried  to  put  the 
thought  out  of  her  mind.  But  it  refused  to  be  banished. 
It  returned  again — and  again,  and,  in  desperation,  not 
untouched  with  panic,  she  assured  herself  that  she  was 
tired — very  tired,  and  this  silly  feeling  was  the  result. 
Then,  too,  her  humor  was  summoned,  and  it  warned 
her  of  the  quantity  of  ice  cream  she  had  devoured  at  the 
ball.  It  told  her  her  digestion  had  suffered  in  conse- 
quence. And  this  she  thought  was  a  pity,  because  she 
loved  ice  cream. 

But  humor  was  swept  aside  by  a  far  keener  emotionc 


132  THE  FORFEIT 

She  scorned  the  idea  of  indigestion.  She  had  no  pain 
there.  But  there  was  pain,  a  silly  ache  about  her  heart 
which  robbed  her  of  all  desire  for  sleep. 

She  tried  to  console  herself  by  recalling  her  fathers 
quaintly  expressed  admiration  of  her,  when  he  first  be- 
held her  in  her  new  and  costly  gown.     What  was  it  ? 

"  Why,  say,  Nan,  when  I  look  at  you  I  sort  o'  feel  as  if 
two  fellers  had  bin  at  work  fixin'  you,  a  po't  an'  a  painter. 
Seems  as  if  they'd  set  their  mushy  heads  together,  an' 
each  had  doped  out  what  the  other  couldn't,  till  ther' 
ain't  a  thing  left  fer  the  fancy  of  plain  mule-headed  sort 
o'  bussocks  like  me." 

Curious  as  his  method  of  expression  had  been  she  had 
understood  and  thrilled  with  delight.  But  almost  at  once 
her  thoughts  flew  on  to  much  later  when  she  was  gliding 
through  the  dancing  crowd  at  the  ball.  His  eyes  had 
followed  her  everywhere.  But  there  was  a  change  in 
their  expression.  To  her  it  was  a  complete  change.  To 
her  the  simple  approval  had  been  replaced  by  a  gleam 
of  sympathetic  concern.  But  this  was  after — after  the 
first  cloud  had  settled  upon  her  hope  of  unalloyed  en- 
joyment. Perhaps  the  look  had  not  been  there  at  all. 
Perhaps  it  was  simply  her  own  feelings  finding  reflection 
for  her  where  none  existed. 

She  became  impatient  with  herself  and  grasped  at  the 
memory  of  Jeffs  greeting  when  she  had  first  appeared  in 
the  hotel  parlor,  equipped  for  the  reception. 

He  had  not  said  much.  But  that  was  always  Jeffs 
way.  But  there  had  been  his  quick  smile  of  unusual 
satisfaction.  And  the  words  of  greeting  had  sprung 
quite  spontaneously  to  his  lips. 

"  Say,  Nan,  you're — you're  just  great." 


FOUR  YEARS  LATER  133 

The  hesitation  in  the  middle  of  it  had  told  her  even 
more  than  his  smiling  admiration.  It  was  almost  like — 
and  she  thrilled  as  she  thought  it — a  gasp  for  breath. 

She  strove  hard  to  support  herself  with  these  memories, 
but  even  as  she  considered  them  her  mind  passed  on  to 
the  reception,  and  that  stupid  ache  supervened  once 
more.  Instantly  her  focus  narrowed  down.  There  were 
only  two  figures  in  it.  The  rest  merely  provided  a  set- 
ting for  these  twro.  All  the  lights,  the  decorations,  the 
beautiful  costumes  and  smiling  faces,  these  became  an 
indistinct  blurr,  leaving  the  image  of  Mrs.  Elvine  van 
Blooren  and  a  man  standing  vividly  out. 

What  a  wonderful,  wonderful  picture  of  radiant  woman- 
hood Mrs.  Van  Blooren  had  made  !  Even  in  her  trouble 
Nan  was  generous.  The  woman  was  beautiful  in  a  way 
that  poor  Nan  had  only  dreamed  of.  The  Madonna-like 
features,  calm,  perfect.  The  dark  hair,  superb  in  the 
simplicity  of  its  dressing.  She  remembered  that  at  the 
first  glance  it  had  suggested  to  her  the  sheen  of  a  cloud- 
less summer  night.  And  her  gown,  and  her  figure.  The 
gown  must  have  cost — ah,  Nan  could  not  appraise  its 
cost.  She  had  had  insufficient  experience.  Her  own 
maximum  had  been  reached  only  now,  and  the  sum 
seemed  to  her  as  paltry  as  her  father  had  made  it  ap- 
pear. The  one  certainty  that  remained  with  her,  how- 
ever, was  that  the  taste  displayed  in  Mrs.  Van  Blooren's 
gown  had  placed  it  beyond  such  a  thing  as  mere  material 
value. 

And  then  her  heart  had  seemed  to  stand  still.  It  ap- 
peared that  Jeff,  who  was  talking  to  some  other  people, 
and  she  had  become  aware  of  Mrs.  Van  Blooren's  pres- 
ence at  the  same  moment.     For  when  Nan  glanced  in 


134  THE  FORFEIT 

his  direction  he  was  gazing  fixedly  at  the  newcomer 
with  a  look  in  his  steady  blue  eyes  which  she  had  never 
beheld  in  them  before.  Oh,  yes,  there  had  been  no  mis- 
taking that  look.  She  knew  she  was  not  clever,  but  she 
was  a  woman,  and  no  woman  could  ever  mistake  such  a 
look  in  the  eyes  of  a  man. 

But  worse  was  to  follow.  There  was  a  respite  for  her 
in  the  activities  of  the  reception.  For  Jeff  was  as  busily 
occupied  as  she  was.  Then,  too,  at  the  banquet  she  had 
ample  time  to  recover  from  the  shock.  But  the  ball 
came,  and  they  were  both  released  from  their  duties,  and 
everybody  was  left  free  to  dance  as  only  the  western  peo- 
ple love  to  dance. 

It  was  then  that  her  bitter  cup  was  filled  to  overflowing. 
Jeff  danced  six  times  with  Mrs.  Van  Blooren.  Six  times, 
and  one  supper  extra,  while  she  had  to  content  herself 
with  a  miserable  two  dances  with  the  one  man  who,  to  her, 
stood  out  foremost  among  all  men. 

It  was  during  the  long  hours  of  that  dreary  ball  that 
she  had  encountered  her  father's  curious  regard,  and  now 
she  wondered  if  he  had  seen  what  she  had  seen.  If  he 
had  understood  as  she  understood. 

Nan  wanted  to  cry.  As  she  lay  there  on  her  snowy 
bed,  restless,  and  wakeful,  and  troubled,  there  were  cer- 
tainly moments  when  her  tired  eyes  filled  with  tears.  But 
she  did  not,  would  not  cry.  She  smiled  to  herself,  and 
even  laughed.  She  ridiculed  herself  and  made  jest  of  her 
absurd  pretensions.  She  told  herself  a  hundred  times  she 
had  no  claim  upon  Jeff.  He  was  free  to  do  as  he  chose, 
to  dance  all  night  with  any  Mrs.  Van  Blooren. 

But  when,  at  last,  the  first  beam  of  daylight  penetrated 
the  light  material  of  the  window  blinds,  and  slowly  flooded 


FOUR  YEARS  LATER  13$ 

the  room,  it  found  Nan  in  a  troubled  sleep  with  two  great 
unshed  tears  slowly  welling  in  the  corners  of  her  eyes,  and 
ready  to  fall  heavily  and  sadly  down  the  perfect  moulding 
of  her  softly  rounded  cheeks. 


CHAPTER  X 
THE  POLO  CLUB  RACES 

The  race-track  at  Calthorpe  was  a  matter  of  no  small 
pride  to  its  citizens.  Any  western  city  could  possess  broad 
and  beautiful  avenues.  Any  city  might  well  boast  hotels 
of  six,  eight,  or  even  ten  floors,  and  express  elevators,  and 
things  of  that  sort.  A  cathedral  was  not  unknown  even, 
and  electric  surface  cars.  But  a  race-track — a  recognized 
race-track — which  was  included  in  the  official  western 
circuit  of  race  meetings,  was  certainly  a  matter  for  more 
than  ordinary  pride. 

Such  regard  was  undoubtedly  meted  out  to  it,  and  as  a 
corollary  there  were  prophets  in  the  city  who  foresaw  the 
later  development  of  a  Country  Club,  with  a  golf  course, 
and  the  provision  for  every  other  outdoor  sport  under  its 
luxurious  administration.  Those  who  could  afford  such 
luxuries  pretended  to  look  upon  these  things  as  indis- 
pensable, and  those  who  couldn't  regarded  them  with 
simple  pride,  and  lived  in  the  glamour  of  their  reflected 
glory,  and  told  each  other  how  such  things  should  be 
administered. 

Such  developments,  however,  were  for  the  future.  The 
race-track  existed,  and,  amongst  its  many  other  delights, 
it  supplied  the  cranks  with  a  text  for  frequent  sermons. 

It  was  set  in  a  luxurious  woodland  dip,  well  beyond 
the  town  limits,  and  occupied  a  small  flat  of  rich  grass 


THE  POLO  CLUB  RACES         137 

through  which  a  mountain  creek  wound  its  ridiculously 
tortuous  course.  Thus  it  was  provided  with  the  natural 
resources  demanded  by  a  steeplechase  course  as  well  as 
the  "  flat." 

It  was  a  toy  which  the  wealth  of  the  neighborhood  had 
been  poured  out  upon  with  no  niggard  hand,  till  it  found 
itself  possessed  of  a  miniature  grand  stand,  a  paddock 
and  loose  boxes,  for  the  use  of  many  a  pony  whose  normal 
days  were  spent  roaming  wild  upon  the  plains.  Then 
there  was  the  Polo  Club  House  and  ground,  where  many 
of  the  city's  social  functions  were  held.  The  whole  thing 
was  as  pretentious  as  money  could  make  it,  and  in  due 
proportion  it  was  attractive  to  the  minds  of  those  who 
believed  themselves  leaders  in  their  social  world. 

Nan  Tristram  understood  all  this  and  smiled  at  it,  just 
as  she  understood  that  to  absent  oneself  from  the  Polo 
Club  Races  in  Cattle  Week  would  be  to  send  in  one's 
resignation  from  the  exclusive  social  circles  to  which  she 
belonged,  a  position  quite  unthinkable  for  one  who  sought 
only  the  mild  excitements  which  pertain  to  early  youth. 

The  noon  following  the  ball,  and  all  the  disturbed  mo- 
ments which  it  inspired,  found  Nan  on  the  way  to  the 
Polo  Club  Races.  Her  party  was  riding,  and  it  was  an 
extensive  party.  There  were  some  twenty  and  more 
saddles.  Luncheon  had  been  sent  on  ahead,  catered  for 
by  Aston's  Hotel  at  Jeffrey  Masters'  expense,  one  of  the 
many  social  duties  which  his  election  to  the  Presidency 
of  the  Western  Union  Cattle  Breeders'  Association  en- 
titled him  to  undertake  during  the  Cattle  Week. 

It  was  a  gay  party,  mostly  made  up  of  young  and 
prosperous  ranchmen,  and  the  girls  belonging  to  their 
little  world.     Nor  among  them  could  have  been  found 


138  THE  FORFEIT 

any  one  more  brightly  debonair  and  attractive  than  Nan 
Tristram. 

There  was  never  a  sign  about  her  of  the  disquieting 
thoughts  of  overnight.  Such  things  might  never  have 
been.  Her  eyes,  so  soft  and  brown,  were  sparkling  with 
that  joy  of  life  which  never  fails  in  its  attraction  even 
for  the  most  serious  mind.  She  sat  her  brown  mare 
astride  with  the  easy  grace  of  a  born  horsewoman.  Her 
equipment  lacked  no  detail  in  its  comparison  with  that  of 
the  other  women.  Bud's  warning  on  this  point  had  fallen 
upon  willing  and  attentive  ears  when  he  had  handed  the 
girl  a  signed  blank  check.  And  the  old  man  had  found 
ample  reward  for  his  generosity  in  the  rivalry  amongst 
the  men  for  his  "  gal's  "  escort. 

The  only  shadow  which  fell  across  his  enjoyment  had 
occurred  when  he  beheld  Jeff  leading  the  cavalcade  at 
the  side  of  Mrs.  Van  Blooren.  But  in  Nan's  case  it 
seemed  to  give  not  the  smallest  qualm.  Her  one  single 
purpose  seemed  to  be  to  obtain  a  maximum  of  enjoy- 
ment at  the  side  of  young  Bill  Dugdale,  a  college-bred 
youth  of  more  than  ordinary  repute  as  a  prosperous 
cattleman. 

The  day  was  fresh  for  midsummer.  The  sky  was 
ruffled  with  great  billowing  white  summer  clouds,  and  a 
cool  northwest  breeze  was  coming  off  the  mountain  tops. 
The  whole  world  about  them  was  assuming  that  tawny 
green  of  the  ripening  season,  and  the  trail  was  sufficiently 
dusty  for  its  abandonment  in  favor  of  the  bordering  grass. 
But  if  midsummer  reigned  over  Nature,  Spring,  fresh, 
radiant  Spring  was  in  the  hearts  of  those  seeking  the 
mild  excitement  of  Calthorpe's  race-track. 

Nan  and  young  Dugdale  laughed  and  chattered  their 


THE  POLO  CLUB  RACES  139 

way  in  the  wake  of  the  several  couples  ahead.  Dugdale's 
desire  to  please  was  more  than  evident.  And  Nan  was 
at  no  time  difficult.  Just  now  she  seemed  to  enter  into 
the  spirit  of  everything  with  a  zest  which  sent  the  man's 
hopes  soaring  skyward. 

Once  only  during  the  brief  ride  did  the  girl  give  the 
least  sign  that  her  interest  lay  on  anything  but  her  good- 
looking  escort.  It  was  at  a  moment  when  Dugdale  was 
pointing  out  to  her  the  humorous  inspiration  of  his  own 
registered  cattle  brand. 

"  You  see,  ■  B.B.'  don't  sound  much  of  a  scream,  Miss 
Tristram,"  he  said,  in  great  seriousness.  "  I  don't  guess 
it's  likely  to  set  you  falling  out  of  your  saddle  in  one  wild 
hysterical  whoop  of  unrestrained  mirth.  Course  I'm 
known  by  it,  same  as  you're  known  by  the  ■  Obar,'  but 
some  of  the  language  the  boys  fix  to  my  brand  'ud  set  a 
Baptist  minister  hollerin'  help.  Say,  I  can't  hand  you  it 
all.  I  just  can't,  that's  all.  '  Bill's  Bughouse '  is  sort  of 
skimmed  milk  to  pea  soup.  Then  there's  ■  Bill's  Bone- 
yard.'  That  wouldn't  offend  any  one  but  my  foreman. 
1  Busy  Bee '  kind  of  hands  me  a  credit  I  don't  guess  I'm 
entitled  to.  But  there's  others  smack  of  the  intelligence 
of  badly  raised  hogs."  Then  he  laughed.  "  The  truth 
is,  when  I  first  pitched  camp  on  Lime  Creek  I  wasn't  as 
wise  to  things  ranching  as  a  Sunday-school  committee. 
I  lived  mostly  on  beans  an'  bacon,  and  when  the  boys 
fell  in  at  night,  why,  I  don't  guess  there  was  much  beside 
beans  and  bacon  to  keep  'em  from  falling  into  a  state  of 
coma  on  my  blankets.  It  generally  fixed  them  right,  and 
I'm  bound  to  say  they  never  seemed  to  find  they  couldn't 
sit  a  saddle  after  it.  Yes,  and  hit  the  trail  for  fifty  miles, 
if  there  was  fresh  meat  at  the  end  of  it.     I  sort  of  got 


140  THE  FORFEIT 

known  around  as  '  Beans  and  Bacon.'  Then  it  was 
abbreviated  to  B.B.  And  so  when  I  registered  my  brand 
it  just  seemed  natural  to  set  down  B.B." 

Nan's  laugh  was  very  genuine.  Dugdale's  ingenuous 
manner  always  pleased  her. 

"You  hadn't  learned  prairie  hospitality,"  she  said. 
"  You  surely  were  committing  a  grave  offense." 

The  man  was  full  of  pretended  penitence. 

"  I  don't  guess  that  needed  learning"  he  said,  with  a 
wry  smile.  "  The  boys  just  handed  it  to  me  same  as  a 
parson  hands  a  heart-to-heart  talk  on  things  you're  hatin' 
to  hear  about.  Oh,  I  was  put  wise  quick.  But  when 
you've  got  just  about  ten  thousand  dollars  that's  telling 
you  you're  all  sorts  of  a  fool,  and  you're  yearning  for  'em 
to  believe  you're  a  twin  brother  to  Pierpont  Morgan, 
why,  you  don't  feel  your  hide's  made  of  gossamer,  and 
don't  care  a  cuss  if  folks  start  right  in  to  hammer  tacks 
into  it  for  shoe  leather." 

"And  the  dollars?  You  convinced  them?"  Nan's 
eyes  were  full  of  humor. 

"  Convinced  'em  ? "  The  man's  eyes  opened  wide. 
"  Say,  Miss  Tristram,  it  was  a  mighty  big  argument. 
Oh,  yes,  and  I  guess  there  were  times  when  we  come 
near  bein'  such  bad  friends  that  I  wanted  to  hand  'em 
right  on  to  the  nearest  saloon-keeper  I  could  find.  But 
in  the  end  I  won.  Oh,  I  won.  I  just  told  'em  right  out 
what  I  thought  of  'em,  and  their  parents,  and  their 
ancestors,  and  their  forthcoming  progeny,  and — that 
seemed  to  fix  things.  They  got  civil  then.  Sort  of 
raised  their  hats,  and — got  busy.  You'd  be  astonished 
if  you  saw  the  way  they  hatched  out — after  that.  You 
see,"  he  added  whimsically,  "  there's  just  about  only  one 


THE  POLO  CLUB  RACES  141 

way  of  makin'  life  act  the  way  you  need  it.  Set  your 
back  teeth  into  the  seat  of  things,  and — hang  on." 

But  Nan's  reply  was  slow  in  coming,  and  her  usually 
ready  laugh  was  not  in  evidence.  His  final  remark  had 
brought  very  near  the  surface  all  those  feelings  and 
thoughts  she  had  striven  so  hard  to  bury  where  they 
could  no  longer  offend.  It  seemed  to  the  man  that  her 
eyes  had  grown  unnecessarily  serious.  But  then  he  did 
not  know  that  there  was  any  unusual  interest  for  her  in 
the  fact  that  Jeff  Masters  was  escorting  Mrs.  Van 
Blooren. 

When  she  did  speak  it  was  with  her  gaze  fixed  upon 
the  couple  ahead. 

"Yes,  that's  it,"  she  said.  "  Hang  on.  Hang  on  with 
every  ounce  of  courage  and  strength  you've  got.  And  if 
you've  got  to  go  under,  why,  I  guess  it's  best  done  with  a 
smile,  eh?"  Quite  abruptly  she  indicated  the  woman  in 
front.     "  I  do  think  she's  real  beautiful,  don't  you  ?  " 

"Who?"  The  man  had  no  concern  for  anybody  at 
that  moment  but  the  girl  at  his  side. 

11  Who  ?  Say,  aren't  you  just  foolish.  I  was  thinking 
of  Mrs.  Van  Blooren." 

The  man  laughed. 

"  I  surely  am,"  he  declared.  "  And  I've  won  prizes  for 
thought-reading  at  parlor  games,  too." 

They  both  laughed.  Then  Nan  went  on  with  a  per- 
sistence which  was  quite  lost  upon  the  thought-reader. 

"  Who  is  she?     Mrs.  Van  Blooren?"  she  demanded. 

"Why,  you  met  her,  sure?"  Then  the  man  added 
with  some  significance  :  "  She's  riding  with  Jeff  Masters." 

"  Oh,  yes.  I've  met  her.  I  met  her  last  night,  and 
I've  seen  her  many  times  before."     Then  she  added  with 


142  THE  FORFEIT 

a  shadow  of  coldness  in  her  manner :  "  But  she  doesn't 
belong  to  the  cattle  folk." 

The  man's  eyes  were  following  the  direction  of  Nan's. 

"  No-o,"  he  said  seriously.  "  Guess  I'm  not  wise. 
They  say  her  husband  was  a  rancher — before  he  acted 
foolish  an'  died." 

Nan's  laugh  came  readily. 

44  That's  bright.  I  don't  guess  he  started  running 
cattle— after." 

Dugdale  chuckled  explosively. 

"Who's  to  say?"  he  cried.  Then  he  went  on  with 
enthusiasm:  "Say,  wouldn't  it  be  bully  to  think  of? 
Just  get  a  thought  of  it.  Flapping  around  with  elegant 
store  wings,  rounding  up  golden  steers  trimmed  with 
fancy  halos,  and  with  jeweled  eyes.  Branding  calves 
of  silver  with  flaming  irons  and  turning  'em  out  to  feed 
on  a  pasture  of  purple  grass  with  emeralds  and  sapphires 
for  blossoms  all  growing  around.     And  then " 

"Think  again.  Say,  your  taste's  just — cheap.  But 
we're  talking  of  Mrs.  Van  Blooren." 

"  I'm  sorry.  Why,  I  guess  she's  daughter  to  the 
Carruthers's.  John  D.  Carruthers.  He  was  principal 
at  St.  Bude's  College.  Pensioned.  Guess  it's  five 
years  since  she  handed  us  boys  the  G.  B.  and  hooked  up 
with  a  white-gilled  hoodlum  from  down  East.  He  got 
around  here  with  a  wad  he'd  raised  from  his  father. 
Can't  say  who  his  father  was.  Folks  guessed  he  was 
some  millionaire.  I  don't  just  know  the  rights  of  it. 
Anyway,  he  left  her  well  enough  fixed.  Gee  !  Fancy 
a  feller  acting  that  way — dying,  with  a  wife  like  that. 
Wonder  what  sort  of  mush  he  kept  in  his  thinking 
depot?      I'd  say   folks  with  sense  have  to  live  on  the 


THE  POLO  CLUB  RACES  143 

chances  fools  can't  just  kick  to  death.  Anyway,  seeing 
she's  started  right  in  to  set  her  wings  rustling  again  I 
guess  some  feller  with  hoss  sense'll  be  getting  busy. 
They'd  make  a  swell  couple,"  he  added  with  a  grin. 
"  Jeff's  a  good-looker." 

Nan  nodded. 

But  she  made  no  answer.  Had  the  man  been  less 
concerned  with  his  match-making  suggestions  he  must 
have  observed  the  effect  of  his  careless  words.  Nan  had 
paled  under  the  pretty  tanning  of  her  rounded  cheeks. 
She  was  hurt,  hurt  beyond  words,  and  though  she  could 
willingly  have  cried  out  she  was  forced  to  smother  her 
feelings.  The  panic  of  the  moment  passed,  however, 
and,  with  a  great  effort,  she  was  able  to  give  her  sugges- 
tion its  proper  value.  But  somehow,  for  the  rest  of  the 
ride,  it  seemed  to  her  that  the  sun  was  less  bright,  the 
wind  even  had  become  chilly,  and  altogether  there  was 
a  curious,  enervating  world-weariness  hanging  over 
everything. 

By  the  time  they  reached  the  race-track  she  felt  in  her 
simple  heart  she  ought  to  apologize  for  having  spoiled 
her  escort's  ride.  But  the  inclination  was  only  the  result 
of  her  depression.  She  even  told  herself,  with  a  gleam 
of  humor,  that  if  she  attempted  it  she  would  have  to 
burst  into  tears. 

However,  the  later  excitement  of  the  racing  helped  to 
revive  Nan's  drooping  spirits.  The  scene  was  irresistible. 
The  atmosphere.  The  happy  buoyant  enjoyment  on 
every  side  could  not  long  be  denied  whatever  the  troubles 
awaiting  more  sober  moments.  There  were  the  sleek 
and  glossy  horses.  There  were  the  brilliant  colors  of  the 
jockey's  silks.    There  was  the  babel  of  excited  voices, 


i44  THE  FORFEIT 

the  shouting  as  the  horses  rushed  down  the  picturesque 
"  straight."  Then  the  betting.  The  lunching.  The  sun. 
The  blessed  sun  and  gracious  woodland  slopes  shutting 
in  this  happy  playground  of  men  and  women  become 
children  again  at  the  touch  of  pleasure's  magic  wand. 
No,  for  all  her  anxiety,  Nan  had  no  power  to  withstand 
the  charm  and  delirium  of  it  all.  And,  for  a  while,  she 
flung  herself  into  it  with  an  abandon  which  matched  the 
most  reckless. 

Twice  she  found  herself  in  financial  difficulties  through 
reckless  betting,  and  twice  the  open-handed  Bud  had  to 
come  to  her  assistance.  Each  time  his  comment  was 
characteristic,  and  Nan  laughed  at  him  with  the  irrespon- 
sibility of  a  child  who  tastes  the  delight  of  gambling  for 
the  first  time. 

"  Say,  little  gal,"  Bud  admonished  her,  the  second 
time  he  unrolled  his  "  wad  "  of  bills.  "  Makin'  dollars 
on  a  race-track's  jest  about  as  easy  as  makin'  ice-cream. 
Ther's  jest  one  way  of  doing  it.  Ast  yourself  which  hoss 
you're  craziest  to  dope  out  your  money  on,  an*  when 
you're  plumb  sure  then  get  right  along  an'  bet  on  the 
other  feller.  Meanwhiles  think  in  dollars  an'  play  in 
cents." 

And  Nan's  answer  reflected  her  feelings  of  the  moment. 

"  You  can't  play  in  cents,  my  Daddy,  when  it's  time  to 
play  in  dollars.  You  never  know  when  the  time's  coming 
along  when  even  cents  are  denied  you." 

Then  before  the  worshipping  parent  could  add  to  his 
advice  the  girl  darted  off  with  her  hands  full  of  outspread 
bills  seeking  the  pool  rooms. 

She  had  seen  the  horses  cantering  over  to  the  post  for 
the  half-mile  dash.     It  was  a  race  for  legitimate  cow- 


THE  POLO  CLUB  RACES  145 

ponies  and  she  knew  Jeffs  "  Sassafras  "  was  running  in 
it.  She  meant  to  bet  on  Jeff's  horse.  It  mattered  noth- 
ing to  her  what  other  horses  were  running.  She  knew 
little  enough  of  their  claims.  She  had  one  thought  in 
life.  Anything  to  do  with  Jeff  Masters,  anything  of  his 
was  good  enough  for  her  to  gamble  on — even  with  her 
life.  This  was  the  real,  all  unconscious  Nan.  It  was  not 
in  her  to  give  half  measure.  She  had  no  idea  of  what 
she  was  doing.  She  had  no  subtlety  or  calculation  of 
anything  where  her  love  was  concerned.  She  would 
back  Jeff  to  the  limit,  and  stand  or  fall  by  it.  It  was  the 
simple  loyalty  and  devotion  which  only  a  woman  can 
yield. 

On  her  way  to  the  pool  room  she  encountered  Jeff 
himself,  and,  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  clasping 
her  money  in  both  hands,  she  thrust  them  out  toward 
him. 

"Say,  Jeff,"  she  cried,  "I'm  just  crazy.  The  horses 
have  gone  right  out  to  the  start  now,  and — and  I'm 
gasping  to  put  my  dollars  on  Sassafras." 

The  man's  quiet  smile  was  good  to  see.  And  Nan 
warmed  under  its  influence.  This  was  the  Jeff  she  had 
known  so  long  and  loved  so  well.  There  was  no  other 
woman  near  to  have  provoked  that  smile.  It  was  hers. 
She  felt  it  was  all  hers,  and  her  eyes  shone  up  into  the 
depths  of  blue  she  so  loved. 

"  Why,  Nan,  I  just  hate  to  disappoint  you,"  he  said,  in 
a  gentle  fashion.  "  But  you'll  surely  be  crazy  to  back 
my  plug  with  Tommy  Cleveden's  '  Jack  Rabbit '  in  the 
race.     It's  a  cinch  for  him.     It  is  so." 

Nan  laughed  a  glad  buoyant  laugh. 

"Jack   Rabbit?"  she  echoed  scornfully.      "Why,   he 


146  THE  FORFEIT 

points  the  toe.  Guess  he'd  outrun  Sassafras  if  he  kept 
his  feet,  but  he'll  never  do  it.  He'll  peck.  Then  he'll 
change  his  stride.     No,  Jeff.     Sassafras  goes  with  me." 

The  smile  in  the  man's  eyes  faded  out.  He  hated  the 
thought  of  Nan  losing  her  money  on  what  he  considered 
a  foolish  bet.  His  practical  mind  could  not  see  under 
her  purpose. 

"Say,  Nan,  just  don't  you  do  it,"  he  said  persua- 
sively. "We  aren't.  We're  backing  Jack  Rabbit  for 
a  big  roll." 

"We?" 

"  Mrs.  Van  Blooren  and  me." 

Jeff's  manner  was  quite  unconcerned.  At  that  instant 
he  had  no  thought  of  anything  but  to  dissuade  Nan  from 
throwing  her  money  away  uselessly.  And  Nan.  Her 
eyes  never  wavered  for  an  instant  in  their  regard.  Their 
warmth  of  expression  remained.  Yet  it  was  a  cruel  blow. 
Perhaps  the  crudest  that  could  have  been  inflicted  at 
such  a  moment.     Jeff  had  inflicted  it — Jeff  of  all  men. 

She  smiled  up  at  him.  Oh,  how  she  smiled.  Her  eyes 
shone  like  two  superb  brown  diamonds  as  she  forced  her 
money  upon  him  with  even  greater  determination. 

"  Take  it,  Jeff.  Take  it,"  she  cried  urgently.  "  Say,  if 
you  never,  never  do  another  thing  for  me — ever.  Take 
it,  and,  why,  I  guess  every  cent  of  it  says  Sassafras  wins. 
Sassafras  is  your  pony,  Jeff,  and  I'd  back  him  if  he'd  only 
three  legs  and  a  fence  post."  Then  just  the  smallest 
gleam  of  the  woman  peeped  through.  "  Maybe  Mrs. 
Van  Blooren's  a  pretty  bright  woman.  But  I  guess  I'm 
wise  to  horses." 

Jeff  hurried  away.  There  was  no  time  to  waste.  The 
horses  had  already  assembled  at  the  start.     Nan  watched 


THE  POLO  CLUB  RACES  147 

him  go  with  eyes  that  had  lost  their  last  gleam  of  sun- 
shine. The  mask  she  had  set  up  before  the  man  had 
completely  fallen.  Jeff  was — was  betting  for  Mrs.  Van 
Blooren  !  He  was  betting  with  her  !  Maybe  even  they 
were  pooling  their  bets  1     Oh  ! 

For  some  moments  she  stood  alone  where  Jeff  had  left 
her.  Everybody  had  rushed  to  the  fence  of  the  enclosure, 
crowding  to  witness  the  race.  Nan  seemed  to  have  for- 
gotten it.  It  was  Bud's  voice  that  finally  claimed  her,  and 
she  tried  to  pull  her  scattered  faculties  together. 

She  reached  Bud's  side  amongst  the  crowd,  and  the 
old  man's  shrewd  eyes  searched  her  troubled  face. 

"  What's  amiss,  Nan  ?  "  he  demanded,  in  a  tone  almost 
brusque. 

And  the  girl  responded  with  a  wistful  smile. 

"  Why,  Daddy,  I've  bet  all  your  money  on  Jeff's  Sassa- 
fras, and — and  I  want  him  to  win  more  than  anything — 
anything  in  the  world." 

Bud's  reply  was  lost  in  the  sudden  shout  that  went  up. 
It  was  the  start.  Some  one  made  way  for  Nan,  and  gently 
pushed  her  to  a  place  against  the  railings.  The  winning- 
post  was  directly  in  front  of  her.  The  full  breadth  of  the 
track  was  in  her  view.  She  gazed  ^out  with  eyes  that 
were  very  near  tears.  She  saw  a  vista  of  green  and  many 
figures  moving  beyond  the  track.  She  heard  the  hoarse 
cries  of  men,  whose  desires  exceeded  their  veracity  as 
they  shouted  the  progress  of  the  race.  But  nothing  of 
what  she  heard  or  beheld  conveyed  anything  to  her. 
Her  heart  was  aching  once  more,  and  her  thoughts  were 
heavily  oppressed,  and  all  the  joy  of  the  day  had  sud- 
denly been  banished. 

Then  of  a  sudden  came  that  greatest  of  all  tonics.    That 


148  THE  FORFEIT 

irresistible  sensation  so  powerfully  stimulating  that  no 
trouble  can  resist  it.  The  racing  horses  leaped  into  her 
view,  and  the  disjointed  shouts  welded  into  one  steady 
roar.  Nan  was  caught  in  the  tide  of  it  all.  The  blood 
seemed  to  rush  to  her  head  like  full  rich  wine.  She  added 
her  light  cries  to  the  general  tumult. 

"  Sassafras  1  Sassafras  !  "  she  cried,  with  eyes  blind  to 
all  but  the  indistinct  cluster  of  the  straining  horses. 

Then  in  her  ears  rang  a  cry  : 

"  A  hundred  dollars  Jack  Rabbit  I  A  thousand  1  Jack 
Rabbit !    Jack  Rabbit  I  " 

It  was  like  a  douche  of  cold  water.  The  girl's  heart 
sank.  She  felt,  she  knew  that  Jack  Rabbit  had  won. 
Then  into  her  ears  poured  a  babel  of  voices.  The  roar 
had  died  out,  and  the  crowd  were  waiting  for  the  numbers 
to  go  up. 

Nan  had  no  further  interest.  She  turned  to  seek  her 
father.  He  was  there,  not  far  behind  her,  and  she  pushed 
her  way  toward  him.  She  smiled  bravely  as  she  came 
up,  but  the  pathos  of  it  was  lost  on  Bud.  He  was  cran- 
ing, and  his  eyes  were  on  the  number  board.  He  did  not 
even  see  her. 

"  I'm — I'm  sort  of  tired,  Daddy,"  she  began. 

But  Bud  held  up  his  hand.  There  was  a  rattle  at  the 
number  board.  Nan  understood.  She  waited.  Then  it 
seemed  as  if  the  crowd  had  timed  itself  for  one  unanimous 
shout. 

"  Sassafras  ! " 

It  came  with  a  sort  of  electric  thrill  for  the  girl.  In  one 
wild  moment  all  her  shadows  seemed  to  clear. 

"  Sassafras  !  "  she  cried. 

And  her  father's  deep  gray  eyes  beamed  down  upon  her. 


THE  POLO  CLUB  RACES  149 

"  You've  sure  guessed  right,  little  gal,"  he  said.  "  An' 
I — hope  it  was  dollar  time." 

At  that  instant  Jeff  thrust  his  way  through  the  crowd, 
and  the  warmth  of  his  smile  flooded  the  girl's  heart  with 
happiness. 

"  Say,  Nan,"  he  cried,  holding  out  his  hand  with  an 
enthusiasm  that  was  hardly  to  be  expected  in  one  who 
has  lost,  "  you  got  us  all  beat  a  mile.  You  surely  have. 
Sassafras.  My  old  Sassafras.  Say,  who'd  'a'  thought 
it  ?  "  Nan's  hand  remained  clasped  in  his,  and  she  seemed 
to  have  no  desire  to  withdraw  it.  Jeff  looked  round  into 
Bud's  face.  "  Do  you  know  what  she's  won  ?  Do  you, 
Nan  ?  "  he  went  on  to  the  girl  again. 

Nan  laughed.     It  was  all  she  wanted  to  do* 

"  Not  a  notion,  Jeff.  I  handed  you  all  Daddy  gave  me. 
How  much  was  it,  Daddy  ?  " 

"  Five  hundred." 

Nan's  eyes  widened  in  alarm. 

"  Five  hundred  ?    And  I  bet  it  all  on — Sassafras  !  " 

"And  you've  won  nearly  five  thousand,"  cried  Jeff, 
stirred  completely  out  of  himself  at  the  girl's  success. 

"  I — I  must  have  been— crazy,"  she  declared,  in  an 
awed  voice. 

Bud  laughed,  but  his  eyes  were  full  of  a  sympathy  that 
had  no  meaning  for  the  others. 

"  Not  crazy,  little  Nan.  Jest  good  grit.  Guess  Jeff 
didn't  see  the  pool  waitin'  around  for  him  to  pick  up. 
Wal,  guess  ther's  a  heap  o'  folk  like  him.  You  played 
right  out  for  a  win,  an'  you  won — by  a  head." 


CHAPTER  XI 

ELVINE  VAN  BLOOREN 

It  was  the  last  day  of  the  Cattle  Week.  A  week 
which,  for  at  least  three  people,  was  fraught  with  some- 
thing in  the  nature  of  epoch-making  events.  All  that 
the  simple  heart  of  Nan  Tristram  had  looked  forward  to, 
yearned  for,  had  been  denied  her  from  the  first  mo- 
ment she  had  beheld  that  unmistakable  lightening  up  of 
Jeff's  eyes  on  his  meeting  with  Elvine  van  Blooren.  It 
had  been  a  revelation  of  dread.  Her  own  secret  hopes 
had  been  set  shaking  to  their  very  foundations.  And 
from  that  moment  on,  during  the  rest  of  the  week,  brick 
by  brick  the  whole  edifice  of  them  had  been  set  tumbling. 
By  the  last  day  nothing  but  a  pile  of  debris  remained. 

Holiday !  It  had  been  a  good  deal  less  than  holiday. 
She  had  looked  forward  to  one  all  too  brief  succession 
of  days  of  delight.  Jeff,  who  had  been  honored  by  his 
fellows  in  the  world  which  was  theirs.  Jeff,  the  leader  in 
the  great  industry  which  absorbed  them  all.  Jeff,  the 
man  by  his  very  temperament  marked  out  for  a  worldly 
success  only  bounded  by  the  limitations  of  his  personal 
ambitions.  She  had  been  so  proud  of  him.  She  had 
been  so  thankful  to  be  allowed  to  share  in  his  triumphs. 
She  had  shared  in  them,  too — up  till  that  meeting  with 
Elvine  van  Blooren  at  the  reception.  After  that — ah, 
well,  there  had  been  very  little  after  for  Nan. 


ELVINE  VAN  BLOOREN  151 

And  the  man  himself.  Four  days  had  sufficed  to 
reduce  Jeff's  feelings  to  a  condition  of  love-sickness  such 
as  is  best  associated  with  extreme  youth.  Furthermore 
its  hold  upon  him  was  deeper,  more  lasting  by  reason  of 
the  innate  strength  of  his  character. 

As  for  Elvine  van  Blooren  it  would  be  less  easy  to  say. 
Her  beauty  was  of  a  darkly  reticent  order.  Hers  was  the 
face,  the  eyes,  the  manner  yielding  up  few  secrets.  She 
rarely  imparted  confidence  even  to  her  mother.  And  a 
woman  who  denies  her  mother  rarely  yields  confidence  to 
any  other  human  creature. 

Perhaps  in  her  case,  however,  she  had  good  reason. 
Mrs.  John  D.  Carruthers,  who  possessed  a  simple  erudite 
professor  for  a  husband,  a  man  who  possessed  no  worldly 
ambitions  of  any  sort,  and  who  readily  accepted  his  pen- 
sion from  the  trustees  of  St.  Bude's  College  at  the  earliest 
date,  so  that  he  might  devote  all  his  riper  years  to  the  pros- 
ecution of  his  passion  for  classical  research,  was  a  pain- 
ful example  of  worldliness,  and  a  woman  who  regarded 
position  and  wealth  before  all  things.  There  was  little 
enough  sympathy  between  mother  and  daughter.  Mrs. 
John  D.  Carruthers  only  saw  in  Elvine's  unusual  beauty 
an  asset  in  her  schemes  of  advancement.  While  Elvine 
displayed  a  cold  disregard  for  the  older  woman's  efforts, 
and  went  her  own  way. 

Elvine  was  strong,  even  as  Jeffrey  Masters  was  strong. 
But  while  the  man's  strength  lay  in  the  single  purpose 
of  achievement,  Elvine  looked  for  the  ease  and  luxury 
which  life  could  legitimately  afford  her.  Elvine  and  her 
mother  possessed  far  too  much  in  common  ever  to  have 
sympathy  for  one  another. 

It  was  this  very  attitude  which  inspired  an  acrimonious 


152  THE  FORFEIT 

half  hour  in  the  somewhat  pretentious  parlor  on  Maple 
Avenue  just  before  Jeff  was  to  pay  his  farewell  call  at  the 
close  of  the  Cattle  Week. 

Elvine  was  occupied  with  a  small  note-book  on  the 
pages  of  which  there  were  many  figures.  With  a  small 
gold  pencil  she  was  working  out  sums,  which,  apparently, 
were  solely  for  her  own  edification.  She  communicated 
nothing  to  her  mother,  who  covertly  glanced  over  at  her 
from  the  fancy  work  she  was  engaged  upon  at  the  far 
side  of  the  room. 

The  room  was  such  as  might  be  found  in  any  of  the 
better  middle-class  houses  in  a  western  city.  Its  furnish- 
ing was  a  trifle  ornate.  Comfortable  chairs  predominated, 
and  their  woodwork  shone  with  an  extreme  lustre,  or  were 
equally  aggressive  in  their  modern  fictitious  Mission 
House  style.  The  carpet  and  rugs  were  broadly  floral 
and  bright.  There  was  altogether  a  modernity  about  the 
character  of  it  which  decidedly  belonged  to  the  gray- 
haired  showiness  of  the  wife  of  John  Carruthers.  For 
all  that,  there  was  nothing  absolutely  untasteful  about 
Elvine's  surroundings.  The  daughter  would  never  have 
permitted  such  a  thing.  It  was  only  modern,  extremely 
modern.  That  type  of  modern  which  belongs  to  those 
homes  where  money  is  a  careful  consideration. 

At  last  Elvine  closed  her  note-book  and  returned  it 
to  the  rather  large  pocketbook  which  was  lying  in  her 
lap.  Her  fine  eyes  were  half  smiling,  and  a  faint  tinge 
of  color  deepened  her  perfect  cheeks.     She  sighed. 

"  We  didn't  do  so  badly  at  the  races,  Momma,"  she 
said,  more  for  her  own  satisfaction  than  her  mother's 
information.  "  Guess  I've  got  most  all  of  it  in  and — 
I'm  satisfied." 


ELVINE  VAN  BLOOREN  153 

"  Maybe  you  are,  my  dear/'  came  the  ungracious 
response. 

Her  mother  was  bending  over  her  work,  nor  did  she 
trouble  to  raise  her  eyes  in  her  daughter's  direction. 

"  That  sounds  as  if  somebody  else  wasn't." 

Elvine  raised  a  pair  of  beautifully  rounded  arms  above 
her  head  and  rested  the  back  of  her  neck  upon  her  clasped 
hands. 

The  gray  head  was  lifted  sharply.  A  pair  of  brilliant 
black  eyes  shot  a  disapproving  glance  across  the  room. 
Then  the  mother  continued  her  work,  shaking  her  head 
emphatically. 

"  What's  the  use  of  a  few  dollars  ?  He's  going  back 
to  his  ranch  to-morrow,  and — nothing's  happened." 

There  was  something  crude,  almost  brutal  in  the  man- 
ner of  it.  There  was  something  which  on  a  woman's  lips 
might  well  have  revolted  any  man.  But  it  was  an  atti- 
tude to  which  the  daughter  was  used.  Besides,  it  saved 
her  any  qualms  she  might  otherwise  have  had  in  pursu- 
ing her  own  way  under  the  shelter  of  her  mother's  roof. 

"  I  really  can't  see  what  you've  to  complain  of, 
Momma,"  Elvine  laughed,  without  any  display  of  mirth. 
"  I  guess  if  you  wanted  to  marry  a  man  you'd  leave  him 
about  as  much  chance  as  he'd  have  with  a  wildcat." 
Then  her  smile  died  out.  "  Anyway  it  doesn't  seem  to 
be  a  matter  for  other  folk  to  concern  themselves  with. 
I'm  not  a  child." 

"  No.  But  you're  going  to  throw  away  the  chance  of 
a  lifetime  if  you  don't  act  right  now.  Why,  girl,  Jeff 
Masters  is  the  pick  of  the  whole  bunch  of  cattlemen 
around  this  district.  He's  going  to  be  one  of  the  cattle 
kings  of  the  country,  or  I  don't  guess  I  know  a  thing. 


154  THE  FORFEIT 

He's  right  here  to  your  hand,  and  as  tame  as  a  lap-dog. 
To-morrow  he's  off  again  to  the  ranch,  and  that  girl  of 
his  partner's  will  have  him  to  herself  for  a  year.  Why, 
you're  crazy  to  let  him  go.  Four  years  you've  lived  here 
since — since " 

"  I  wish  you'd  stop  worrying,  Momma — and,"  the  girl 
added  with  unconcealed  resentment,  "get  on  with  your 
knitting." 

Elvine  had  risen  to  her  feet.  She  moved  swiftly  over 
to  the  window  which  gave  on  to  a  wide  stoop,  the  roof  of 
which  was  supported  on  well-built  rag  stone  columns. 
She  was  more  angry  than  her  words  admitted.  Her  fine 
eyes  were  sparkling,  her  delicately  penciled  brows  were 
slightly  knitted. 

She  made  a  handsome  picture.  Her  wealth  of  dark 
hair  was  carefully  dressed,  but  with  the  usual  consummate 
simplicity.  Her  figure  was  superb,  with  all  the  ripeness 
of  maturity,  but  without  the  smallest  inclination  toward 
any  gross  development.  She  was  statuesque,  with  all  the 
perfect  cunning  of  Nature's  art.  She  was  a  woman  to 
find  favor  in  any  eyes,  man's  or  woman's,  and  to  perform 
that  dual  feat  was  a  test  which  few  women  could  hope  to 
survive. 

The  mother's  reply  came  sharply  and  without  yielding. 

"It's  just  four  years  since  you  came  back  to  home. 
Five  or  more  since  you  first  married.  Anyway,  you've 
sat  around  here  for  four  years  having  a  good  time  with- 
out a  thought  of  the  future.  You're  spending  your 
money,  which  didn't  amount  to " 

The  girl  flashed  round. 

"  I  won't  tolerate  it.  I  just  won't,  Momma,"  she  cried, 
with  an  energy  which  brought  the  other's  eyes  swiftly  to 


ELVINE  VAN  BLOOREN  155 

her  face.  "  You've  talked  of  four  years  wasted,  but  you 
don't  say  a  word  of  the  other  year,  the  fifth.  It's  taken  me 
all  that  time  to — forget  what  your  judgment  might  have 
saved  me  from.  Oh,  yes.  You  know  it  just  as  well  as  I 
do.  Don't  blind  yourself.  I  was  foolish  then,  I  thought 
I  was  in  love,  and  it  was  the  moment  when  the  advice  of 
a  woman  worth  having  might  have  helped  me.  You 
urged  me  in  my  folly  to  marry  then,  the  same  as  you're 
urging  me  now.  You  saw  everything  you  hoped  for  in 
that  marriage,  and  you  let  me  plunge  myself  into  a  living 
hell  without  a  single  qualm.  The  result.  Oh,  I've  tried 
to  forget.  But  I  can't.  I  haven't  forgotten.  I  never 
shall  forget.  But  I've  learned.  I  certainly  have.  I've 
learned  to  think  wholly  for  myself — of  myself.  I  don't 
need  advice  now.  I  don't  need  a  thing.  You'll  never 
see  things  my  way,  and  I  don't  fancy  to  see  them  yours. 
I  shall  marry.  And  when  I  marry  again  I  promise  you 
I'll  marry  right,  and,"  she  laughed  bitterly,  "  I  guess  I'll 
hand  you  the  rake  off  which  you're  looking  for.  But," 
she  went  on,  with  a  swift,  ruthless  candor  which  stung 
even  the  worldly  heart  of  the  older  woman,  "  I'll  make 
no  experimental  practice.  I'll  marry  the  man  I  want  to, 
first  because  I  like  him,  and  second,  because  he's  a  right 
man,  and  can  hand  me  the  life  I  need.  Maybe  that's 
pretty  hard  sounding,  but  I  tell  you,  Momma,  it's  nothing 
to  the  hardness  that  makes  you  talk  the  way  you  do. 
Anyway,  I  want  you  to  get  it  fixed  in  your  mind  right 
now  I'm  no  priceless  gem  in  a  jewelry  store  that  you're 
going  to  sell  at  the  price  you  figure.  I'll  dispose  of  my- 
self when,  and  to  whom,  I  choose,  and  my  motives  will 
be  my  own.  Now  we'll  quit  it,  once  for  all.  Jeffrey 
Masters  is  coming  right  along  down  the  sidewalk." 


156  THE  FORFEIT 

The  mother's  black  eyes  snapped  angrily. 

"  Very  well,"  she  exclaimed  sharply.  "  See  to  it  you 
make  good.  Your  father's  pension  isn't  even  sufficient 
for  two,  and  your  own  money  is  limited.  Meanwhile, 
don't  forget  the  Tristram  girl's  just  as  pretty  as  a  picture." 

But  Elvine's  exasperation  had  passed.  There  was  a 
slight  softening  in  her  eyes  as  they  surveyed  the  hand- 
some, elaborately  dressed  gray  head  and  the  careful  toilet 
of  her  unlovely  mother.  She  understood  the  bitter  carp- 
ing of  this  disappointed  woman.  Her  spirit  soared  far 
beyond  the  lot  of  the  wife  of  a  pensioned  school-teacher. 
She  knew,  too,  that  somewhere,  lost  in  some  dim  recess 
of  a  coldly  calculating  nature,  there  was  a  tiny,  glowing 
spot  which  burned  wholly  for  her. 

There  was  an  unusual  softness  in  her  tone  when  she 
replied. 

"  But  she  needs  framing,  Momma,"  she  said  lightly. 
"And  anyway,  a  girl  who  lives  more  or  less  on  the 
premises  with  a  man  for  five  years  or  so,  and  hasn't  mar- 
ried him — well,  I  guess  she  never  will." 


The  whole  method  of  Jeff's  life  was  rapidity  of  thought 
and  swift  execution  supported  by  a  perfect  genius  for  clear 
thinking.  It  was  these  characteristics  which  had  lifted 
him  so  rapidly  in  the  world  of  cattle  he  had  made  his 
own.  It  was  these  which  had  shown  him  the  possibilities 
of  the  now  great  Obar  Ranch. 

It  might  have  been  claimed  for  him  that  he  lacked 
many  of  the  lovable  weaknesses  of  human  nature.  It 
might  have  been  said  that  he  was  hard,  cold.  Yet  such 
was  his  passionate  ambition  beneath  a  cool,  deliberate 


ELVINE  VAN  BLOOREN  157 

exterior  that  it  would  have  been  foolish  to  believe  that 
his  outward  display  was  the  real  man.  He  was  perhaps 
a  powerfully  controlled  fire,  but  the  hot  tide  ran  strong 
within  him,  and  the  right  torch  at  the  right  moment 
might  easily  stir  the  depths  of  him  and  bring  their  fiery 
display  to  the  surface. 

Bud  knew  him.  Bud  understood  something  of  the  deep 
human  tide  flowing  through  his  strong  veins.  Once  he 
had  seen  that  tide  at  the  surface,  and  it  had  left  an  im- 
pression not  easily  forgettable.  Nan,  too,  was  not  with- 
out understanding  of  him.  But  hers  was  the  understand- 
ing of  her  sex  for  an  idol  she  had  set  up  in  her  heart.  Her 
knowledge  of  his  shortcomings  and  his  best  characteristics 
was  perhaps  the  reflection  of  her  feelings  for  him,  feelings 
which  make  it  possible  for  a  woman  to  endow  any  object 
of  her  profound  regard  with  the  virtues  she  would  have  it 
possess.  To  her  there  was  nothing  of  the  iron,  relentless, 
purposeful  soul  about  him.  He  was  just  "  Honest  Jeff," 
as  she  loved  to  call  him.  A  creature  full  of  kindly  thought 
for  others  as  well  as  strong  in  his  own  personal  attitude 
toward  life. 

For  himself  Jeff  knew  nothing  of  the  emotions  lying 
dormant  within  him  until  some  chance  happening  stirred 
them  from  their  slumbers  and  sent  them  pulsating  through 
his  senses.  He  accepted  the  tide  of  life  as  he  found  it, 
and  only  on  his  journey,  swimming  down  its  many  cur- 
rents, he  endeavored  by  skilful  pilotship  to  avoid  the 
shoals,  and  seek  the  beneficent  backwaters  so  that  his 
muscles  and  courage  might  be  strengthened  for  the  com- 
pletion of  the  task  he  had  still  before  him. 

Elvine  van  Blooren  had  held  the  right  torch  at  their 
first  meeting  during  the  Cattle  Week.     One  look  into 


158  THE  FORFEIT 

her  beautiful  eyes  had  set  his  soul  aflame,  as  all  the  years 
of  his  life  spent  in  association  with  Nan  Tristram  had 
failed  to  do.  Did  she  only  know  it,  the  first  waltz  with 
him  at  the  subsequent  ball  had  completely  made  her  mis- 
tress of  his  destiny. 

Again  with  his  rapid,  clear-thinking  mind  he  had  not 
only  promptly  admitted  this  truth  to  himself,  but  he 
reveled  in  the  enchantment  of  the  thought  it  inspired. 
He  desired  it.  He  regretted  only  that  fortune  had  so 
long  denied  him  the  contemplation  of  such  delights.  He 
felt  he  had  never  before  lived.  He  had  merely  existed, 
something  more  than  a  physical  and  mental  machine, 
something  less  than  a  man. 

Something  of  all  this  stimulated  his  sensations  during 
that  ostensible  farewell  call  upon  the  woman  who  had 
inspired  the  change.  And,  as  his  hungry  eyes  dwelt 
upon  her  great  beauty,  he  became  a  prey  to  an  impulse 
that  was  irresistible.  Why  should  this  be  a  farewell? 
Why  should  there  ever  be  a  farewell  between  them? 
There  could  be  none.  Then,  to  his  support  came  that 
steady  determination  which  never  failed  him  in  crises. 
There  should  be  no  farewell. 

He  was  clad  in  sober  conventional  garb.  There  was 
only  the  bronzing  upon  his  fair  brow  and  firm  cheeks  to 
suggest  the  open  air  life  that  was  his.  His  slim,  power- 
ful figure  was  full  of  an  ease  which  caught  and  held,  and 
pleased  Elvine  van  Blooren's  fancy,  and  awoke  in  her 
more  material  mind  something  of  the  dreams  which  had 
driven  her  almost  unthinkingly  into  the  arms  of  her  first 
husband.  His  fine  blue  eyes  were  alight  with  possibili- 
ties which  came  near  to  overbalancing  the  calculations  of 
her  mature  mind.     But,  even  so,  she  felt  that  the  ground 


ELVINE  VAN  BLOOREN  159 

was  so  safe  under  her  feet  that,  even  with  the  background 
of  the  past  ever  in  her  memory,  she  could  safely  indulge 
her  warmth  of  fancy  to  its  full. 

They  were  alone  in  the  little  modern  parlor.  At  an- 
other time  Jeff  must  have  observed  its  atmosphere  without 
enthusiasm.  Just  now  he  welcomed  it.  It  represented 
the  intimate  background  of  a  beautiful  woman's  life. 
This  was  the  shrine  of  the  goddess  whom  he  had  set 
up  for  his  own  worship.  Again  there  was  no  half 
measure. 

They  were  talking  in  that  intimate  fashion  which  be- 
longs to  the  period  when  a  man  and  a  woman  have  made 
up  their  minds  that  there  remains  no  obstacle  to  the 
admission  of  mutual  regard. 

11  It's  just  wonderful  to  have  done  it  all  in  so  short  a 
time,"  Elvine  said  in  her  low  even  tones. 

Jeff  had  been  talking  of  the  Obar  Ranch  which  was 
more  precious  to  him  than  a  schoolboy's  first  big  achieve- 
ment in  the  playing  fields.  He  had  been  talking  of  it, 
not  in  the  spirit  of  vain  glory,  but  out  of  the  deep  affec- 
tion of  a  strong  heart  for  the  child  of  his  own  creation. 

"  Oh,  I  guess  it  would  have  been  wonderful  with  any 
other  feller  for  a  partner  than  Bud  Tristram,"  Jeff  re- 
sponded promptly.  "  As  an  enterprise,  why,  I  guess  it's 
my  thought.  As  a  success,  it's  Bud's  genius  for  setting 
cattle  prospering.  Say,  you  can't  handle  a  wide  propo- 
sition right  by  reckoning  up  figures  and  fixing  deeds  of 
sale  and  partnership.  I  allow  you  need  to  do  some 
thinking  that  way.  But  when  it's  all  figgered  right,  why, 
the  real  practical  man  needs  to  get  busy  or  the  riggers 
aren't  worth  the  ink  an'  paper  you've  used  to  make  'em. 
Bud's  the  feller  of  the  Obars.     I  just  sit  around  and 


160  THE  FORFEIT 

talk  wise  when  he  needs  talk,  which  I  don't  guess  is  fre- 
quent." 

Jeffs  smile  was  genuine.  There  was  no  false  modesty 
that  made  him  place  the  credit  of  the  Obar's  success  at 
Bud's  door.  The  credit  was  Bud's.  He  knew  it.  And, 
with  frank  honesty,  was  only  too  ready  to  admit  it,  and 
even  advertise  it. 

Elvine  nodded.  Her  dark  eyes  were  warmly  returning 
his  smile. 

"  I  like  that,"  she  said  simply.     And  she  meant  it. 

The  blood  mounted  to  the  man's  brow.  He  felt  that 
he  had  forced  her  to  make  the  admission,  and  regarded 
his  act  with  some  shame. 

"  Say,  don't  feel  you've  got  to  say  that,"  he  said 
earnestly.  "You  mustn't  just  think  I'm  asking  your 
applause.  These  are  simple  facts  which  I  can't  deny. 
I'd  like  to  feel  the  sun  just  rises  and  sets  around  my 
work,  but  if  I  did  I'd  be  the  same  sort  of  fool  as  those 
Pharisee  fellers  in  the  Bible.  Bud's  a  bully  feller,  and  I'll 
owe  him  more  than  I  can  ever  hand  him  back  just  as  long 
as  I  live." 

Elvine  was  comparing  this  man's  big  generosity  with 
her  understanding  of  most  of  the  men  she  had  ever  known. 
She  was  thinking,  too,  of  days  long  since  passed,  and 
events  which  even  a  wide  distance  of  time  had  not  suc- 
ceeded in  rendering  mellow. 

She  sighed.  Somehow  "  Honest  Jeff "  was  hurting  her 
in  a  way  she  would  never  have  believed  any  man  could 
hurt  her — now. 

"  This  Bud  Tristram's  daughter — Nan.  She's  a  pretty 
creature,"  Elvine  went  on,  feeling  their  topic  needed 
changing. 


ELVINE  VAN  BLOOREN  161 

Jeff's  smile  deepened. 

"She's  pretty — right  through  to  her  soul,"  came  his 
prompt  and  earnest  response. 

Elvine's  eyes  observed  him  closely.  She  laughed  in  a 
challenging  fashion. 

"And  she  is  still  her  father's  daughter?" 

Jeff  flushed.  Her  meaning  could  not  be  mistaken. 
His  impulse  was  to  speak  out  of  the  depth  of  a  strong 
abiding  regard  for  his  friend's  "  little  gal."  But  he  re- 
jected the  impulse.  Time  and  his  own  desires  were 
pressing. 

"  Oh,  I  guess  she'll  marry  some  fellow  some  day. 
Maybe  he'll  be  good  enough " 

"  And  more  than  likely  he  won't."  Elvine's  reply  was 
emphatic.  She  suddenly  sat  forward  in  the  deep  rocker, 
and  a  great  earnestness  shone  in  her  eyes.  "  I  tell  you 
no  woman  in  this  life  has  a  right  to  be  as  '  pretty '  as  you 
believe  her  to  be,"  she  said  with  intense  bitterness.  "  If 
I  had  my  way  every  girl  would  be  taught  to  reason  for 
herself  on  those  things  in  life  which  make  for  her  well- 
being.  I'd  make  her  think  that  way  before  everything 
else.  To  me  it  is  the  direst  cruelty  of  Providence  that  we 
should  be  left  to  become  the  prey  of  our  own  emotions, 
and  at  the  mercy  of  any  man  of  whatever  quality  who  can 
sufficiently  stir  them.  Maybe  you  do  not  agree  to  that. 
But  just  think  of  the  awful  position  that  every  wretched, 
physically  feeble  woman  stands  in  in  the  life  about  her. 
I  tell  you  no  girl  on  her  own  resources  has  much  better 
than  a  dog's  chance  of  getting  through  life  without  disas- 
ter. Our  emotions  are  the  most  absurdly  foolish  type  it  is 
possible  to  think  of.  I  guess  we  can  do  things  with  our 
normal  reason  which  would  shame  a  whole  asylum  of 


162  THE  FORFEIT 

crazy  folk  who  can't  be  let  run  around  free.  Oh,  I'd  like  to 
know  her  better,  to  tell  her,  to  warn  her.  I  don't  guess 
I've  ever  done  good  in  the  world,  but  I'd  like  to.  If  I 
could  save  one  of  my  sex  from  some  of  the  pitfalls  lying 
around,  maybe  I'd  feel  I'd  been  some  use." 

"  Why  not  know  her  better  ?  Say,  Nan's  no  end  of  a 
good  sort.     She'd  be  real  glad." 

Jeff's  invitation  sounded  lame,  even  to  himself.  But 
he  was  struggling  under  an  emotion  that  made  words 
difficult. 

Elvine  laughed. 

"Would  she?     I  wonder." 

Then  she  hurried  on  lest  her  observation  should  be 
interpreted. 

"  And  you're  going  to  quit  our  city  to-morrow  for  your 
wonderful  ranch.  I  guess  the  Cattle  Week's  liable  to 
bore  folks  who've  real  work  in  the  world — like  you.  It's 
just  a  week  of  show,  and  glitter,  and  ceremony,  all  those 
things  which  have  no  real  place  in  the  world  of  things 
that  matter.  But  there,  after  all,  I  wonder  what  are  the 
things  that  matter.  And  do  they  matter  anyway  ?  We 
have  no  guide.  We're  just  left  to  grope  around  and 
search  for  ourselves,  and  every  folk's  ideas  are  different 
from  every  other  folk's.  I'm  restless.  I  sort  of  feel  there's 
so  much  to  be  done  in  the  world — if  we  only  knew  how, 
and  what." 

The  half-bantering  manner  of  the  woman  did  not  dis- 
guise her  earnestness.     Jeff  shook  his  head. 

"  Guess  I  can't  say.  Guess  none  of  us  can — rightly. 
But  why  not  come  around  to  the  ranch  and  see  things  ? 
See  if  you  can  worry  out  an  answer.  See  if  you  think 
the  work  we're  doing  matters.     It  certainly  does  matter 


ELVINE  VAN  BLOOREN  163 

to  me,  to  us.  But  in  the  world.  I  don't  know.  Just  now 
I  sort  of  feel  it  don't.  Just  now  I'm  wondering  whether 
I'll  go  back  there  to-morrow.     What  do  you  say  ?  " 

11 1  ?     How  can  I  say  ?  " 

Jeff  laughed. 

"  I  don't  guess  there's  a  thing  easier."  His  eyes  were 
shining  as  he  took  in  the  girl's  dark  beauty.  "  Seems  to 
me  I'm  beginning  to  wonder  about  the  things  that  matter 
myself.  It's  been  a  bully  week.  The  sort  of  week  some 
folks  would  write  about  in  their  secret  diary.  Guess  I 
don't  keep  a  secret  diary — except  somewhere  right  in 
here."  He  tapped  his  breast.  "  I  don't  seem  to  feel  I've 
ever  had  such  a  time,  or  ever  will  again,  unless " 

"  Unless  ?  "  Elvine  was  caught  in  the  mood  of  the  mo- 
ment. This  man  was  exercising  a  fascination  over  her 
which  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  calculations  she  had 
laid  down  for  the  guidance  of  her  sex. 

"  Why,  unless  I  add  another  week  to  it." 

■■  D'you  think  you  could  duplicate  it  then?" 

"  That  just  depends  on — you." 

Elvine  rose  from  her  chair  and  moved  toward  the  win- 
dow. Jeff,  too,  left  his  chair.  He  stood  tall  and  straight 
--waiting. 

Her  back  was  turned  to  him. 

"  It  is  not  for  me  to  say,"  she  replied  without  turning. 

"Why  not?" 

11  Your  work — in  the  world." 

"  Can  wait.     There's  always — Bud  Tristram." 

Suddenly  Elvine  turned  about.  Her  eyes  were  smiling, 
and  full  of  a  light  which  had  not  lived  in  them  for  several 
years.  There  was  not  a  shadow  of  calculation  in  them 
now 


164  THE  FORFEIT 

She  held  out  her  hand  in  token  of  dismissal. 

"  We  had  some  fine  rides — together,"  she  said. 

"  My  horses  are  still  here." 

"  And — the  dances.     They  were — very  pleasant." 

"  Maybe  they  can  be  danced — again." 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said,  her  beautiful  hand  lingering  in 
his  for  a  moment. 

"  For  the  present,"  Jeff  added  with  decision. 

Then  he  mechanically  glanced  at  his  timepiece.  His 
"  farewell "  call  had  lasted  over  two  hours.  But  even  so 
it  had  been  all  too  short  for  him. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  TEMPERING 

BUD  was  packing  in  his  rooms  at  Aston's  Hotel.  It 
was  late  at  night.  Late  as  it  was,  however,  he  had  only 
left  Nan,  engaged  at  a  similar  occupation,  less  than  half 
an  hour  ago.  He  had  sat  talking  to  her,  and  watching 
her  with  eyes  of  deep  concern  while,  with  infinite  care, 
she  bestowed  those  beautiful  gowns  which  mean  so  much 
in  a  woman's  life. 

His  visit  to  her  had  not  been  one  of  mere  companion- 
ship. It  had  been  inspired  by  a  sympathy  he  had  no 
other  means  of  displaying.  He  had  talked  to  her;  by 
every  means  in  his  power  he  had  endeavored  to  interest 
her  in  reminiscence  of  the  week's  doings.  She  listened 
patiently,  almost  submissively,  for  she  understood  the 
promptings  of  his  endeavor.  But  she  was  too  deeply 
plunged  in  her  own  discouragement  to  display  real  inter- 
est, and  it  had  required  every  ounce  of  courage  she  pos- 
sessed to  prevent  herself  falling  to  weeping. 

Nor  was  Bud  at  fault  for  a  moment.  He  recognized 
the  trouble  lurking  in  the  sweet  brown  eyes.  And  with 
all  his  might  he  pretended  not  to  see.  So,  when  his  last 
effort  to  cheer  had  proved  unavailing,  he  took  his  de- 
parture under  the  excuse  of  his  own  packing. 

He  knew.  Of  course  he  knew.  Had  he  not  watched 
the  progress  of  events  throughout  the  week?  Had  he 
not  seen  for  himself  how  Jeff's  fancy  had  been  caught  ? 
And  she  was  very  beautiful,  this  town-bred  woman,  beau- 


1 66  THE  FORFEIT 

tiful  with  that  healthy,  downy  complexion  which  Bud 
found  did  not  fit  with  his  idea  of  city  "  raised  "  women. 
He  almost  felt  he  hated  her,  yet  he  knew  he  had  no  right 
to  his  antagonism.  Jeff  was  unpledged,  he  was  free. 
No  woman  had  any  claim  on  him.  Not  even  Nan.  Poor 
Nan.  He  had  hoped  to  give  her  seven  long  days  of  un- 
alloyed delight.  He  had  only  given  her  seven  days  of 
bitter  disappointment  and  disillusion. 

He  set  about  his  packing  with  furious  zest.  In  a  mo- 
ment, it  seemed,  his  room  was  in  a  state  of  chaos.  And 
all  the  while,  as  he  bundled  garments  together  and  flung 
them  into  his  grips,  his  busy  thought  went  on  in  the  only 
direction  in  which  it  seemed  capable  of  moving  just  now. 

His  mind  had  gone  back  to  the  days  before  their  visit 
to  Calthorpe.  He  remembered  the  delighted  anticipation 
which  Nan  had  displayed.  Her  displays  of  happy  affec- 
tion for  himself  in  the  midst  of  her  own  great  looking 
forward.  The  ravishing  hours  she  had  spent  in  choosing 
patterns  of  material,  and  styles  of  gown.  He  remem- 
bered the  bright  sparkling  eyes  shining,  it  seemed  to  him, 
at  all  times.  That  wonderful  looking  forward.  Oh,  the 
holiday  of  it  had  been  nothing.  There  was  only  one 
thing,  one  thought,  which  had  inspired  the  child.  It  was 
Jeff.  It  was  a  week  that  was  to  see  honor  done  him,  and 
she — she  was  to  join  in  honoring  him.  Jeff  was  the 
whole  hub  about  which  her  happiness  revolved. 

He  was  pained.  He  was  angry.  And  the  vision  of 
Elvine  van  Blooren's  dark  beauty  haunted  him.  He  ad- 
mitted it — her  beauty.  And  for  all  his  disquiet,  his  bitter 
feeling,  he  found  it  impossible  to  blame  the  man. 

Yes,  for  all  his  exasperation.  For  all  he  regarded  Jeff 
as  a  "fool  man,"  he  was  just  enough  to  remember  that 


THE  TEMPERING  167 

Nan  was  his  own  little  daughter,  a  pretty  prairie  girl, 
with  nothing  of  the  showy  attraction  of  this  city  woman. 
Then  Jeff's  attitude  toward  her.  It  had  never  been  more 
than  the  sheerest  friendliness.  He  reflected  bitterly,  even, 
that  they  might  have  been  simply  brother  and  sister. 
While  the  dream  of  his  life  was  some  day  to  be  able  to 
pour  out  the  wealth  he  was  storing  up  into  the  out- 
stretched palms  of  their  children. 

Well,  it  was  a  dream.  And  now  it  had  come  tumbling 
about  his  feet,  and  it  almost  looked  to  him  as  if  poor  little 
Nan's  heart  was  to  be  buried  beneath  the  debris. 

He  flung  his  evening  suit,  which  Nan  had  so  much  ad- 
mired, into  the  gaping  jaws  of  a  large  leather  grip,  with 
a  disregard  that  more  than  illustrated  his  feelings.  Then 
he  strove  to  close  the  grip  tucking  in  the  projecting  odd- 
ments of  silk-lined  cloth  without  the  least  consideration 
for  their  well-being.  He  felt  he  never  wanted  to  wear 
such  things  again,  never  wanted  even  to  see  them.  He 
and  Nan  belonged  to  the  prairie,  not  to  a  city.  That  was 
good  enough  for  them.     What  was  the  use ? 

But  his  reflections  were  interrupted  by  the  abrupt  ap- 
pearance of  Jeff  himself.  Bud  looked  up  as  the  door  was 
unceremoniously  thrust  open,  and  his  regard  was  quite 
unshaken  by  the  depths  of  his  feelings.  It  displayed  a 
mute  question,  however. 

Jeff  began  at  once. 

"  I  saw  the  light  through  your  transom,  Bud,  so  I  just 
came  right  in." 

Jeff  was  a  shade  paler  than  usual.  There  was  a  look 
of  some  doubt  in  his  blue  eyes.  And  his  manner  hinted 
at  a  decision  taken.  A  decision  that  had  not  been  ar- 
rived at  without  some  considerable  exercise  of  mind. 


1 68  THE  FORFEIT 

Slowly,  as  he  regarded  him,  all  Bud's  bitterness  sub- 
sided. If  Nan  were  his  daughter,  this  man  was  almost  a 
son  to  him. 

"Say,  old  friend,  I'm — I'm  not  going  back  home 
with  you  to-morrow,"  Jeff  went  on.  He  stirred  with  a 
suggestion  of  nervousness,  and  then  flung  himself  upon 
the  old  man's  littered-up  bed.  "  I  just  can't,  an'  that's  a 
fact.  I  want  to  stop  around  here  for  a  while.  I  got 
to." 

He  paused  as  though  awaiting  an  answer,  but  none 
was  forthcoming.  Only  was  there  that  steady  regard 
from  the  man  beyond  the  still  open  grip. 

Bud  was  not  thinking  of  the  announcement.  Jeff  was 
certainly  a  "  good-looker,"  and  he  was  beginning  to  un- 
derstand something  of  the  attraction  he  must  have  for  a 
woman  like  Elvine  van  Blooren.  He  was  slim  and  mus- 
cular, with  a  keen  face  of  decision  and  strength.  Then, 
was  he  not  on  the  rising  wave  which  must  ever  appeal  to 
the  maturer  mind  of  a  widow,  however  young  ?  His  dis- 
appointment rose  again  and  threatened  to  find  expression. 
But  he  thrust  it  aside  and  struggled  to  remember  only  his 
regard  for  the  man. 

"  D'you  mind  ?  "     Jeff's  question  came  nervously. 

Did  he  mind  ?  It  was  a  weak  question.  Coming  from 
Jeff  it  sounded  foolish.  Bud  smiled,  and  his  quiet  sense 
of  humor  saved  him  from  himself. 

"Why,  if  you  feel  that  way  I  don't  guess  you  need 
worry  a  thing,  Jeff."  Then  he  added :  "  Guess  Nan  an' 
me'll  get  right  along  home.  But  it  don't  need  to  cut 
no  ice.  I  take  it  you're  askin'  me  to  fix  things  right  at 
the  Obars  till  you  get  around.     That  so?" 

Jeff  nodded.     He  was  feeling  that  he  was  doing  some- 


THE  TEMPERING  169 

thing  mean,  even  brutal.  He  knew  that  what  he  con- 
templated must  result  in  the  bitterest  disappointment  to 
his  old  friend.  He  had  well  enough  known  throughout 
their  partnership  Bud's  yearning  desire  that  he  should 
marry  Nan.  Well,  such  a  course  was  unthinkable  now. 
Somehow  it  had  never  seemed  really  possible.  He  was 
troubled,  grievously  troubled,  but  he  was  determined  now 
to  act  in  the  only  honest  way.  He  was  determined  that 
Bud  should  know  the  truth — at  all  costs. 

"  I'd  be  thankful  to  you,  Bud." 

"  You  don't  need  to  say  a  word.     It's  fixed." 

For  some  moments  no  other  word  was  spoken.  There 
was  awkwardness.  But  it  was  with  Jeff  alone.  He  feared 
the  result  of  what  he  must  tell. 

"  You're — packing  ?  "  he  said  presently. 

Bud  sat  himself  heavily  into  a  rocker. 

"Yep.  Lestways  I  don't  guess  Nan  'ud  call  it  that 
way."  He  raked  his  curly  iron-gray  hair  with  his  strong 
fingers,  and  gazed  ruefully  at  the  chaos. 

"  Maybe  I  can  help  some." 

Bud  shook  his  head,  and  his  smile  was  good. 

"Guess  one  darn  fool's  enough  playin'  this  game. 
When're  you  coming  along  to — home  ?  " 

"  Maybe  a  week." 

The  reply  was  prompt. 

"An' — you'll  bring  her  along  with  you?" 

The  eyes  of  the  two  men  met.  Each  was  reading  the 
other  like  an  open  book. 

Jeff  shook  his  head.  Somehow  there  was  nothing 
absurd  to  him  in  Bud's  suggestion.  There  was  nothing 
startling  even  in  the  probing  of  his  secret  with  so  much 
directness. 


170  THE  FORFEIT 

"  I  haven't  asked  her — yet." 

Then  it  was  that  the  big  heart  of  the  friend,  who  was 
almost  a  father,  made  itself  apparent. 

"  But  you're  goin'  to,  Jeff.  An'  she's  goin'  to  take  you. 
Say,  Jeff,  she's  one  lucky  woman." 

In  a  moment  the  tide  of  the  younger  man's  feelings 
was  set  flowing.  In  a  moment  the  egoism  of  the  lover 
made  a  generous  nature  forget  all  else  but  the  passion 
that  absorbed  him.  In  a  moment  the  thought  that  this 
man  was  Nan's  father,  and  that  the  dearest  wish  of  his 
life  was  that  he,  Jeff,  should  marry  his  daughter,  was 
forgotten. 

"Lucky?  But  you  got  it  wrong,  Bud,"  Jeff  cried,  sit- 
ting erect,  his  face  flushed  with  the  passionate  stirring  of 
his  strong  heart.  "It's  I  who'll  be  lucky,  if  she  don't 
turn  me  down.  Man,  I'm  not  worth  the  dust  on  her 
shoes.  I'm  not  fit  to  lackey  for  her.  Nor — nor  is  any 
other  feller.  Say,  Bud,"  he  went  on,  leaning  impressively 
forward,  his  eyes  shining  with  his  passion,  "  I'm  just  crazy 
to  death  for  her.  And — and  I  can't  just  help  it.  I'd  go 
through  hell's  flames  for  her,  man,  I'd " 

"Say,  boy,  don't  worry  that-a-way.  Jest  marry  her 
instead,"  Bud  broke  in  with  his  gentlest  smile.  "  You're 
all  sorts  of  a  boy,  Jeff,  and  I  don't  rigger  you  got  call  to 
talk  about  the  dust  of  any  woman's  shoes.  But  I  guess 
ther's  times  when  it's  good  fer  a  man  to  feel  he  ain't  as 
big  as  he's  told.  Anyways,  you  get  right  ahead,  and 
leave  me  to  the  Obars.  I  ain't  goin'  to  fail  you  now, 
any  more  than  any  other  time."  Then  he  rumpled  his 
stubbly  hair  again,  and  it  was  an  action  that  suggested 
heavy  thought.  "  Say,"  he  went  on,  a  moment  later,  his 
eyes  looking  squarely  into  the  face  of  the  other,  "  we're 


THE  TEMPERING  171 

hittin'  the  trail  good  an'  early  to-morrow.  Guess  you 
best  let  me  say  •  good-bye '  to  Nan  for  you.     That  so  ?  " 

Jeff  nodded.  He  understood.  And  somehow  the  big- 
ness of  this  man  made  him  almost  despise  himself. 

"  Then  I  guess  I'll  get  right  on  with  my — packin'." 


They  were  standing  on  the  stoop  of  Aston's  Hotel. 
In  front  of  them  the  broad  Avenue  opened  out  with  its 
central  walk,  between  an  aisle  of  wide-spreading  maple 
trees  bathed  in  the  early  morning  sun.  A  spring  wagon 
was  already  moving  away,  piled  up  with  baggage.  The 
saddle  horses  were  ready,  held  by  one  of  the  hotel  serv- 
ants. Nan,  in  her  riding  costume,  was  waiting  while  her 
father  exchanged  a  few  parting  words  with  the  hotel 
manager. 

"  Guess  you're  right.  It's  been  a  darn  good  week  this 
year.  The  best  in  my  memory.  I'd  say  the  Conference 
was  a  heap  better  attended,  an'  the  weather's  been  just 
great.  We  got  through  a  deal  o'  legislation,  too.  Guess 
things  are  goin'  to  hum,  with  the  Obars  at  the  head  of  'em 
this  year.  Our  big  play  is  to  be  dealin'  with  rustlers.  We 
got  a  hell  of  a  piece  o'  leeway  to  make  up.  Four  years 
ago  we  guessed  we'd  got  'em  fixed  where  we  wanted  'em. 
But  they  hatched  out  since  like  a  brood  o'  wolf  cubs.  So 
long." 

"Mr.  Masters  is  stopping  on  for  a  while,"  the  manager 
observed,  with  that  intimate  touch  which  he  always  prac- 
ticed with  his  more  influential  customers  of  the  cattle 
world. 

"Why,  yes."  Bud's  eyes  were  watching  Nan  as  she 
mounted  her  pony,  carefully  held  by  a  solicitous  barn- 


172  THE  FORFEIT 

hand.  Under  other  circumstances  the  man's  attention 
would  have  afforded  him  amusement.  Just  now  he  was 
regretting  the  manager's  remark.  "  Y'see,  ther's  a  deal 
to  fix.  Seein'  he's  president  this  year,  why,  I  guess  it's 
up  to  him  to  kep  his  ladle  busy  in  the  soup." 

He  moved  of!  the  stoop  and  took  his  horse  from  the 
waiting  man.  He  swung  himself  into  the  saddle  with  an 
agility  which  belied  his  years. 

He  waved  one  great  hand  in  response  to  the  manager's 
deferential  bow,  and  turned  his  horse  away.  In  a  mo- 
ment Bud  and  Nan  were  riding  side  by  side  down  the 
wide  Avenue. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  either  attempted  to  break 
the  silence  between  them.  They  had  even  reached  the 
outskirts  of  the  city  before  Nan  broached  the  subject  from 
which  her  father  admittedly  shrank. 

"  I'm  glad  Jeff  didn't  get  up  to  see  us  off,"  she  said 
simply.  Then  she  laughed  softly.  "Y'see,  Daddy, 
there's  times  for  most  things ;  and  ■  good-byes '  in  the 
early  morning  are  a  bit  like  cold  baths  in  winter." 

Bud  eyed  his  daughter  with  a  quick  sidelong  glance, 
and  then  continued  his  survey  of  the  trail  ahead  as  it 
lifted  over  a  gentle  grassy  slope.  They  were  passing  the 
last  houses  of  the  town,  and  ahead  lay  the  tawny  fields 
which  made  the  country  one  of  the  greatest  pastures  in 
the  world. 

"  Ther'd  been  no  sort  o'  sense  his  turning  out  around 
sun-up  to  see  us  folks  off.  It  ain't  goin'  to  be  weeks 
before  he  gets  back  home." 

"  No." 

Nan's  smile  remained,  and  Bud,  for  all  his  avoidance 
of  it,  was  aware  that  was  so.     It  was  a  smile  that  cut 


THE  TEMPERING  173 

him  to  the  heart,  and  yet  he  was  simple  man  enough  to 
find  relief  in  it. 

"  There'll  be  a  deal  for  him  to  fix  before  he  gets  back 
home,,,  Nan  went  on. 

She  spoke  in  the  earnest  fashion  of  deep  consideration. 
Bud  glanced  round  at  her  again,  steadying  his  powerful 
horse  to  permit  her  pony  to  push  its  nose  ahead.  Her 
manner  had  startled  him.  But  he  refrained  from  the  folly 
of  replying.  He  had  that  in  his  mind  to  impart  the 
thought  of  which  nearly  broke  his  heart.  But  it  must  be 
told,  and  by  him.  And  a  passionate  desire  to  lighten  the 
blow  made  him  watch  desperately  for  the  best  oppor- 
tunity. 

But  he  was  dealing  with  a  nature  stronger,  deeper, 
more  honest  and  clear-sighted  than  he  knew.  He  was 
dealing  with  a  woman  who  could  sacrifice  all  to  the  well- 
being  and  happiness  of  those  she  loved.  With  Nan  self 
held  a  particularly  subservient  place  to  every  other 
emotion.  And  when  it  did  manage  to  obtrude  itself  it 
was  her  way  to  fight  her  battle  alone,  at  a  time  when  no 
prying  eyes  were  there  to  witness  her  sufferings.  To  the 
daylight  she  presented  a  pair  of  sweet  brown  smiling 
eyes,  and  lips  as  full,  and  ripe,  and  firm  as  though  no 
shadow  of  doubt  and  unhappiness  had  ever  crossed  her 
path. 

She  went  on  rapidly,  speaking  as  though  the  matter 
under  consideration  were  fully  accepted  between  them. 

"  It's  queer  how  things  fix  themselves  the  way  you 
don't  guess,"  she  said  reflectively.  "Just  one  week, 
and  they're  changed  around  in  a  way  that  makes  you 
wonder  if  you  aren't  dreaming.  It's  sort  of  like  the 
Indian  summer,  isn't  it?     There's  the  beautiful  light  of 


174  THE  FORFEIT 

the  full  sun  on  colors  that  set  you  'most  crazy  with 
delight.  Pictures  that  make  you  feel  Providence  is  just 
the  biggest  painter  ever  set  brush  to  canvas.  Then,  with 
a  shiver  of  wind  from  the  north,  down  the  leaves  tumble, 
and  right  on  top  of  'em  comes  the  snow,  and  then  you're 
moving  around  in  a  sort  of  crystal  fairy  web,  and  wonder 
when  you'll  wake  up.  A  week  ago  Jeff  didn't  even  know 
her;  she  wasn't  in  the  world  so  far  as  he  knew.  Now  he's 
going  to  marry  her." 

Nan  stated  the  fact  without  a  tremor  of  voice,  with- 
out a  shadow  of  hesitation.  The  sunny  smile  was  en- 
tirely without  a  cloud.  Her  father  stared  down  at  her 
from  his  superior  height  with  eyes  wide  with  astonish- 
ment and  something  of  alarm. 

"  Say,  did  Jeff  tell  you  ?  "  he  asked  sharply. 

Nan  shook  her  head. 

"  Then  how  in  hell  d'you  know  it  all  ?    Say " 

"  How  d'you  know  anything  that  affects  you  here, 
Daddy?"  the  girl  retorted,  gently  indicating  her  soft 
rounded  bosom  with  one  gauntleted  hand. 

Then  her  smile  broke  out  again,  and  the  man's  trouble 
was  further  increased. 

"  Y'see,  I  don't  mind  saying  things  to  you.  You're 
my  Daddy  and  Momma  all  rolled  into  one.  And  there's 
sure  a  heap  of  you  for  two,"  she  smiled  up  at  him. 
"  Maybe  you  don't  always  say  all  the  things  you  feel, 
but  it  don't  keep  me  guessing  long.  You'd  a  heap  of 
terr'ble,  terr'ble  things  on  your  mind  to  say  to  me  on 
this  ride.  Oh,  and  they  weighed  heavy.  Your  poor 
worried  face  had  lost  all  its  smile,  and  your  eyes  just 
looked  as  if  you'd  been  lying  awake  nights  an'  nights, 
an'  *  you'd  seen  every  sort  of  nightmare  ever  thought  of 


THE  TEMPERING  175 

in  the  world  of  dreams.  It  made  me  kind  of  sorry,  and 
I  just  couldn't  wait  for  you  to  make  that  big  talk  you 
figgered  on." 

Bud  was  gazing  far  out  ahead  at  the  brilliant  sky-line 
where  the  crests  of  grass-land  cut  the  line  in  perfect  un- 
dulations. Nan's  gently  drawn  sigh  was  like  the  stab  of 
a  knife  in  his  heart.  His  feelings  at  that  moment  were 
too  deep  for  words.  And  so  the  girl  went  on  in  a  voice 
that  struck  fresh  chords  of  sympathy  in  the  soul  of  the 
man  who  idolized  her. 

"  It  seems  to  me,  my  Daddy,  that  we  often  think  things 
that  a  great  big  Someone  don't  guess  are  good  for  us  to 
think.  We  sort  of  set  up  hopes  we've  no  right  to.  An' 
when  we  do,  why,  we've  got  to  be  handed  our  lessons. 
Sometimes  the  lesson  is  pretty  tough,  sometimes  I  don't 
guess  it's  a  deal  worse  than  a  pin-prick.  Anyway, 
lessons  aren't  joyous  things  at  best,  not  even  pin-pricks. 
Well,  if  folks  are  right  they'll  just  learn  their  lessons  all 
they  can  without  kicking,  and  if  they  get  a  hunch  on, 
why,  I  don't  figger  it's  likely  to  make  'em  harder.  I've 
been  learning  my  lesson  a  whole  week  now,  and,  yes, 
I've  got  it  right.  Oh,  I've  had  to  work.  It  hasn't  been 
easy.  And  somehow,  my  Daddy,  all  these  lovely,  lovely 
gowns,  and  the  thought  of  the  generous  hands  that  gave 
them  to  me,  have  helped  me  to  learn  quicker,  and — 
better." 

She  paused  again.  Their  horses  were  ambling  leisurely 
along  over  the  sandy  trail.  They  moved  together,  side 
by  side,  in  a  closeness  of  companionship  which  perhaps 
symbolized  that  of  their  riders. 

"  I  jest  don't  know  what  to  say,  Nan.  I  surely  don't," 
Bud  lumbered  at  last  with  a  half-bewildered  drawing  to- 


1 76  THE  FORFEIT 

gether  of  his  heavy  brows.  "  It  don't  seem  I  ken  even 
think  right — about  it." 

Nan  gazed  up  into  his  big  troubled  face  with  the  frank 
eyes  that  looked  wholly  untroubled. 

"  Don't  try,  my  Daddy.  Guess  I've  done  all  that's 
necessary  that  way.  Maybe  I  know  just  how  you're  feel- 
ing, because  I  know  how  I'm  feeling.  God's  been  good 
to  me  all  my  years.  He's  given  me  a  Daddy  who's  the 
best  in  the  world.  A  Daddy  who's  taught  me  by  his  own 
example  how  to  be  strong  and  fight  the  little  battles  I 
guess  it's  meant  for  us  to  fight.  Oh,  I  won't  say  it  hasn't 
hurt,"  she  went  on,  with  a  catch  in  her  voice.  "  You  see, 
I  loved  Jeff.  I  love  him  now,  and  I'll  go  right  on  loving 
him  to  the  end.  And  it's  because  I  love  him  I  want  to 
help  him  now — and  always.  You  won't  think  me  a  fool 
girl,  my  Daddy,  will  you,  but — but — I  won't  hate  Elvine 
van  Blooren.  I'm — I'm  going  to  try  so  hard  to  like  her, 
and — and  anyway,  with  all  my  might,  I'm  going  to  help 
them  both.  D'you  guess  Jeff  would  let  me  get  his  house 
ready  for — his  wife  ?  " 

The  father's  reply  came  with  a  violence  which  he  cal- 
culated should  conceal  an  emotion  which  his  manhood 
forbade,  but  which  only  helped  to  reveal  it  the  more  surely 
to  the  clear  eyes  of  the  girl  at  his  side. 

11  Hell  take  the  bunch — the  whole  of  'em  ! "  he  cried 
fiercely.  Then  he  added  weakly  :  "  You're  nigh  breakin' 
my  heart  all  to  pieces." 

But  Nan's  smile  suddenly  became  radiant,  as  she  turned 
her  brown  eyes  away  from  the  spectacle  of  her  father's 
trouble  to  the  distant  horizon  ahead. 

She  shook  her  head. 

11  No,  my  Daddy.     I  allow  it  feels  that  way  just  now. 


THE  TEMPERING  177 

Pve  felt  that  way,  too.  But  it's  just  God's  tempering. 
And  when  it's  through,  why  I  guess  our  hearts  '11  be  made 
of  good  metal,  strong  and  steady  to  do  the  work  He'd 
have  us  do.     And  that's  just  all  we  can  ask,  isn't  it?" 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  NEWS 

NAN  rode  up  to  the  veranda  of  the  ranch  house  and 
sprang  lightly  from  the  saddle.  Her  pony's  flanks  were 
caked  with  sweat.  The  days  now,  as  they  approached 
July,  were  blistering,  and  the  work  of  the  great  ranch  was 
heavy  for  everybody.  Nan  had  constituted  herself  Jeff's 
substitute  during  his  absence,  and  performed  his  share  of 
the  labor  with  a  skill  and  efficiency  which  astonished 
even  her  father. 

She  was  a  little  weary  just  now.  The  heat  was  trying. 
Four  weeks  of  continuous  effort,  four  weeks  of  day-long 
saddle  work,  superintending  the  distant  out-stations,  the 
pasture  fencing,  the  re-branding,  which  never  seemed  to 
come  to  an  end,  the  hundred  and  one  little  duties  which 
always  cropped  up  unexpectedly ;  these  things,  in  con- 
junction with  the  intense  heat  and  the  constant  trouble 
which  she  held  safely  screened  behind  her  smiling  eyes, 
were  not  without  effect  upon  her,  although  display  was 
only  permitted  when  no  other  eyes  were  present  to  wit- 
ness her  weakness. 

It  was  the  ranch  house  dinner  time.  Bud  was  due,  as 
was  the  return  of  the  men  who  belonged  to  the  home 
station. 

Nan  released  the  cinchas  of  her  saddle  and  removed 
her   pony's  bridle.     Then,  with  a  sharp  pat  upon    the 


THE  NEWS  179 

creature's  quarters,  she  sent  it  strolling  off  toward  the 
open  pasture,  in  which  the  windmill  pump  kept  the 
string  of  watering  tubs  ready  for  the  thirsty  world 
about  it. 

She  watched  the  animal  as  it  flung  itself  down  for  a 
roll.  Its  ungainly,  thrusting  legs  held  her  interest. 
Then,  as  it  scrambled  to  its  feet  and  shook  itself,  and 
headed  for  the  water,  she  seated  herself  in  a  low  wicker 
chair  and  wiped  the  dust  from  her  long  riding  boots  with 
the  silk  handkerchief  she  wore  loosely  tied  about  her  neck. 
A  few  moments  later  her  brown  eyes  were  gazing  fixedly 
out  at  the  shimmer  of  heat  which  hovered  low  over  the 
distant  horizon. 

She  was  meditating  deeply,  her  tired  body  yielding  to 
the  greater  activity  of  her  thought.  The  scene  was  lost 
to  her.  Her  gaze  sped  beyond  the  maze  of  corrals,  and 
the  more  distant  patchwork  of  fenced  pastures  to  the 
western  boundary  of  her  beloved  Rainbow  Hill  Valley. 
There  was  nothing  but  grass,  endless  grass,  until  the  pur- 
ple line  of  the  wood-clad  mountains  was  reached.  And 
here  it  was  that  her  regard  found  a  resting  place.  But 
even  so  she  was  unaware  of  it,  for  her  thoughts  were 
miles  away  in  another  direction. 

Her  courage  had  reaped  its  natural  harvest.  Her  la- 
bors had  yielded  her  a  peace  of  mind  which  at  one  time 
had  seemed  impossible.  She  could  reflect  calmly  now,  if 
not  without  a  world  of  regret  and  sadness.  Just  now,  in 
the  brief  interval  of  waiting  for  her  father  for  their  midday 
meal,  her  relaxed  body  permitted  her  thoughts  to  wander 
toward  the  city  where  Jeff  was  still  held  captive  by  toils 
she  herself  had  been  unable  to  weave  about  him. 

She  had  had  her  desire.     She  had  pressed  her  less 


180  THE  FORFEIT 

willing  father  into  her  service,  and  through  him  she  had 
obtained  the  right  to  see  that  Jeffs  house  was  made  ready. 
It  had  been  a  labor  of  love  in  its  highest  sense,  for  not 
one  single  detail  of  her  efforts  but  had  been  a  fresh  lacera- 
tion of  her  loyal  soul.  In  her  mind  it  was  never  possible 
to  shut  out  the  memory  that  everything  that  was  for  Jeff 
was  also  for  a  woman  who  had  plucked  the  only  fruit  she 
had  ever  coveted  with  her  whole  heart.  There  had  been 
moments  of  reward,  however,  a  reward  which  perhaps  a 
lesser  spirit  might  never  have  known.  It  was  the  pas- 
sionate satisfaction  that  her  hands,  her  love,  were  able  to 
minister  to  the  well-being  of  the  man  she  loved,  for  all 
that  another  woman  occupied  her  place  in  his  heart. 

Feelings  such  as  these  filled  her  heart  now.  They  had 
so  rilled  it  that  morning  during  her  hour  of  superintend- 
ing the  work  of  the  builders  engaged  upon  the  reconstruc- 
tion of  Jeff's  house.  This  was  nearly  completed,  and 
somehow  she  felt  when  all  the  preparations  were  finished 
the  last  support  must  be  banished  forever.  Then  there 
would  be  nothing  left  her  but  to  watch,  perhaps  from 
afar,  the  happiness  of  the  other  woman  basking  in  the 
love  for  which  she  would  willingly  have  given  her  life. 

There  were  moments  when  her  spirit  furiously  rebelled, 
when  she  felt  that  the  sacrifice  was  too  great,  when  the 
limits  of  human  endurance  forbade  submission  to  her  lot. 
They  were  moments  when  mad  jealousy  rose  up  and 
threatened  her  bulwark  of  spiritual  resistance.  And  at 
such  time  her  battle  was  furious  and  hard,  and  she 
emerged  therefrom  scarred  and  suffering,  but  with  a  spirit 
unbroken  and  even  strengthened. 

Then  her  pride,  a  small  gentle  thing,  added  its  quota 
to  her  support.     No  one  should  pity  her,  no  one  should 


THE  NEWS  181 

ever,  ever  know  anything  of  the  sufferings  she  endured. 
No,  not  even  her  beloved  father.  So  her  smile,  even  her 
ready  laughter,  was  enlisted  in  her  support,  and  the 
manner  of  her  discussion  of  the  work  on  Jeff's  house  was 
an  education  in  courageous  acting. 

But  her  father  remained  wholly  undeceived.  He  saw 
with  a  vision  rendered  doubly  acute  by  perfect  sympathy. 
He  read  through  every  smile  to  the  tears  lying  behind  it. 
He  noted  the  change  in  the  tone  of  the  laugh.  He  missed 
nothing  of  the  painful  abstraction  at  odd  moments  when 
Nan  believed  she  was  wholly  unobserved.  Nor  did  he 
misinterpret  the  language  these  things  expressed.  But 
for  all  his  heart  bled  for  the  girl — and  in  his  moments  of 
solitude  he  bitterly  cursed  the  woman  who  had  robbed 
him  of  a  son,  and  heaped  every  scathing  epithet  of  his 
rough  vocabulary  upon  the  head  of  the  man  himself — he 
gave  no  sign  that  the  fair  world  about  them  concealed 
shadowed  corners,  or  that  the  life  which  was  theirs  was 
not  one  triumph  of  eternal  delight.  Thus  was  Nan  helped, 
all  unconscious  of  the  help  so  given.  So  she  was  able  to 
play  the  part  her  courage  and  gentleness  of  spirit  had 
assigned  to  her. 

Presently  a  horseman  came  within  sight,  out  of  the 
northwest.  It  was  the  direction  of  Jeff's  ranch  house. 
A  moment  of  deliberate  scrutiny  revealed  the  man's 
identity.  It  was  Lai  Hobhouse,  second  foreman  of  the 
Obar,  the  man  who,  before  the  amalgamation,  was  Jeff's 
foreman. 

Nan  wondered  what  was  bringing  him  in  at  this  hour. 
Usually  his  visits  to  their  headquarters  were  made  in  the 
evening  when  the  work  of  the  day  was  completed. 

The  man  rode  up  and  found  Nan  interestedly  waiting 


1 82  THE  FORFEIT 

to  receive  him.  There  was  a  touch  of  anxiety  in  her  tone 
as  she  greeted  him. 

"  No  trouble,  Lai  ?  "  she  demanded,  as  the  man  reined 
up  his  pony.  The  direct  manner  of  the  girl  was  largely 
the  result  of  her  new  responsibilities. 

Lai  Hobhouse  was  a  lean-faced  specimen  of  sun-dried 
manhood.  His  appearance  suggested  all  wires  and  in- 
difference to  the  nicenesses  of  life.  His  long  moustache 
drooped  mournfully  below  his  square  chin.  And  his  fierce 
black  eyes  were  full  of  a  violent  heat,  rendered  more 
savage  for  its  bottling  up  during  his  long  ride. 

"  Trouble  ?  "  Then  he  exploded  with  a  furious  oath, 
and  his  volcanic  temper  drowned  the  sunburn  of  his 
cheek  under  a  living  heat.  "Them  rustlers.  Them 
lousy  bums,"  he  cried  almost  choking.  "  That  bunch  o' 
yearlings — Shorthorn  yearlings,  Miss.  Thirty  of  'em — 
picked  right  out  of  the  bush  corrals  where  we'd  got  'em 
for  re-brandin'.  Say,  Bud — your  father,  Miss,"  he  cor- 
rected himself.     "  He  ain't  around  ?  " 

But  Nan's  interest  was  in  the  work  of  the  rustlers. 
Not  in  his  final  inquiry.  Her  pretty  eyes  were  wide  and 
hard  with  the  anger  his  news  had  inspired. 

"The  Shorthorn  yearlings,  Lai?"  she  demanded. 
"Our  prize  stock?" 

"  Sure,  Miss.  Them.  That's  them.  God  blister  their 
filthy  carkises  !     May  they  stew  in  hell  1 " 

He  spat  over  his  horse's  shoulder  as  though  to  em- 
phasize his  furious  disgust.  But  his  forcefulness  was 
displeasing. 

"Guess  you  best  off-saddle,"  Nan  said  coolly. 
"  Father'll  be  along  right  now.  You'll  need  food.  Say, 
what  boys  you  got  out  there  ?  "  she  inquired  as  the  man 


THE  NEWS  183 

slipped  out  of  the  saddle  and  began  to  unfasten  the 
cinchas. 

"  Why,  just  the  same  four  damn  fools,  an' — Sikkem." 

"  And  they're  following  up  the  trail  ?  " 

14  Sure."  The  man  flung  off  the  saddle  and  his  horse 
mouched  away. 

"  Psha ! "  he  cried,  turning  his  fierce  eyes  upon  Nan. 
"  What's  the  use  anyway  ? "  His  gesture  was  one  of 
helpless  disgust.  "  They're  out.  Bin  out  since  day- 
light. An'  I  guess  they've  as  much  chance  roundin' 
that  crowd  up  as  they  would  huntin'  bugs  in  a  hundred 
acre  pasture.  Sikkem's  about  the  brightest.  But  he 
ain't  no  sort  o'  good  after  a  bunch  of  rustlers.  I  wouldn't 
trust  him  with  a  dead  mule  o'  mine  anyway.  The  boss 
hangs  to  him  as  if  he  was  the  on'y  blamed  cowpuncher 
east  o'  the  mountains  because  he's  handy.     I  don't  like 

him,  Miss,  an' Say,  how  did  them  rustlers  know 

'bout  them  calves?  Ther's  two  hundred  head  o'  beeves 
out  there,  an'  they  passed  'em  right  over  fer  the  Short- 
horns." 

The  man's  argument  and  distrust  of  the  man  Sikkem 
made  a  deep  impression  on  Nan.  She  had  listened  to 
some  of  the  latter  before.  But  Jeff's  predilection  for 
the  dark-faced  half  Greaser  had  left  her  sceptical  of  Lai's 
opinion.     Now,  however,  she  was  seriously  impressed. 

At  that  moment  Bud  himself  rode  up  at  a  gallop,  and 
behind  him  rode  four  of  the  home  station  boys.  The 
pace  at  which  he  came  was  unusual,  and  Nan's  troubled 
eyes  promptly  sought  his  face. 

Instantly  her  greeting  died  upon  her  lips,  which  tight- 
ened ominously.  His  usually  steady  gray  eyes  were  hot 
and  fierce,  and  his  face  was  set.     The  comfortable  lines. 


1 84  THE  FORFEIT 

about  his  mouth  were  drawn  hard  and  deep.  She  needed 
no  word  to  tell  her  that  further  trouble  was  abroad. 

He  scarcely  waited  for  his  horse  to  come  to  a  halt. 
He  was  out  of  the  saddle  in  a  moment,  and  his  great 
figure  towered  before  the  foreman,  whom  he  took  in  with 
an  angry  stare. 

"What's  brought  you  in?"  he  demanded,  with  a  dan- 
gerous calm.  Then  the  calm  broke  before  his  storm  of 
feeling.  "  Don't  tell  me  ther's  trouble  around  your  lay- 
out, too,"  he  cried,  without  waiting  for  reply.  Then  he 
turned  on  Nan,  who  was  still  on  the  veranda.  "Say, 
Nan,  they  done  it.  The  rotten  s wines  have  done  it. 
They  shot  *  Jock '  up  I " 

"The  Highland  bull?"  Nan  gasped. 

"  Yes.  That's  it."  Bud  laughed  furiously.  "  That  bull 
I  imported  last  fall  for  three  thousand  dollars,"  he  went 
on,  turning  back  to  the  foreman.  "  They  shot  him  up 
and  drove  off  his  twenty-five  cows  from  the  Coyote  Bluff 
pastures.  Dirty  spite  an'  meanness.  The  white-livered 
scum  ! "  Then  with  a  fierce  oath  the  usually  even-tem- 
pered Bud  hurled  his  wrath  upon  the  waiting  man.  "  Gorl 
darn  it,  you're  standin'  around  like  a  barbed  wire  fence 
post.  What  in  hell's  brought  you  around  now  ?  What 
they  done  your  way  ?  " 

His  manner  roused  the  foreman  to  a  soreness  he  wasn't 
slow  in  showing. 

"  Jest  thirty  Shorthorn  yearlings,"  he  said  without  any 
attempt  to  soften  the  blow.     "  Jest  thirty — prize  stock." 

The  announcement  had  an  unlooked-for  effect.  Where 
Nan  expected  another  furious  display  Bud  remained  silent. 
His  eyes  were  wide  as  they  stared  into  the  foreman's.  But 
no  word  came.     Then,  after  a  few  moments,  he  began  to 


THE  NEWS  185 

laugh  and  Nan  understood.  She  felt  it  was  either  that, 
or — her  father  would  break  something. 

"Well,  I  go  plumb  to  hell  1"  he  cried  at  last.  And 
Nan  felt  relieved  at  the  sound  of  his  voice. 

The  next  moment  Lai  Hobhouse  was  pouring  out  his 
story  with  a  redundant  selection  from  his  choicest  vocab- 
ulary of  abusive  epithet,  which  was  impartially  divided 
between  the  rustlers  and  the  cowhands  under  his  charge. 
Nan  waited  patiently,  her  eyes  studying  her  father's  face. 
But  whatever  his  feelings  he  permitted  them  no  further 
display,  and,  at  the  conclusion  of  the  story,  instead  of 
offering  comment,  or  reverting  to  his  own  discoveries,  he 
turned  to  his  daughter  with  a  smile. 

"Food  on,  Nan?"  he  inquired,  in  his  easy  way. 
"  Guess  I'm  needin'  food — pretty  bad.  Maybe  we'll  feel 
better  after." 

Then  he  turned  to  the  men  who  stood  around. 

"  Git  on  down  to  the  bunkhouse  an'  feed,  boys.  One 
o'  you  grab  my  plug.  After,  we'll  get  around  out  with 
Lai  here.     I " 

He  broke  off  as  Nan  darted  away  down  the  veranda. 
The  mail  man  had  just  clattered  up  to  the  front  of  the 
house,  and  she  had  gone  to  meet  him. 

Bud  passed  his  horse  on  to  one  of  the  men,  and,  with 
heavy  strides,  clanking  with  the  rattle  of  his  heavy  Mex- 
ican spurs,  his  leather  chapps  creaking  as  he  moved,  he 
mounted  the  veranda  and  made  his  way  into  the  house. 


Nan  entered  the  parlor  with  her  hands  full  of  mail. 
The  meal  was  laid  ready,  and  a  colored  girl  was  setting 
the  chairs  in  their  places. 


1 86  THE  FORFEIT 

"  I'll  jest  get  a  clean  up,  Nan,"  her  father  said,  without 
a  single  trace  of  his  recent  display.  "  Guess  I'm  full  of 
dust." 

He  passed  through  the  little  room  like  some  over- 
whelming mammoth.  He  seemed  altogether  too  vast  for 
the  small  home,  which  had  never  grown  with  his  other 
worldly  possessions.  Nan  watched  him  go.  Then  she 
laid  the  mail  down  on  a  side  table  and  began  to  sort  it 
out. 

There  were  a  number  of  letters  for  Jeff.  These  she  set 
carefully  aside  in  a  pile  by  themselves  for  redirection. 
There  were  several  addressed  in  girlish  hands  to  herself. 
For  Bud  there  were  only  a  few.  She  glanced  over  the 
superscription  of  each.  One  or  two  were  easily  recog- 
nized business  letters.  There  was  a  paper,  however,  ad- 
dressed in  Jeff's  hand,  and  a  letter  of  considerable  bulk. 
These  were  what  she  had  been  looking  for.  She  pushed 
the  bunkhouse  mail  aside,  and  regarded  reflectively  the 
outer  covering  of  Jeff's  letter  to  her  father. 

It  was  not  the  first  he  had  received  from  Jeff  during 
the  four  weeks  since  their  return  home.  But  its  bulk  this 
time  was  out  of  the  ordinary,  and  the  carefully  folded 
news  sheet  was  more  than  interesting.  It  awakened  every 
doubt,  every  fear  to  which  she  had  been  a  prey. 

The  rapid  beating  of  her  heart  left  her  with  a  choking 
sensation.  Vivid  imagination  was  at  work,  and  she  was 
reading  in  fancy  under  those  covers  that  which,  sooner 
or  later,  she  knew  she  must  read  in  fact. 

These  were  bad  moments  for  the  girl,  moments  which 
found  her  again  struggling  with  that  self  which  left  her 
little  enough  peace.  Perhaps  the  struggle  lasted  five 
minutes.      Perhaps    less.      At    any   rate   it  seemed   an 


THE  NEWS  187 

eternity  to  Nan  before  the  hired  girl  announced  the 
meal. 

Nan  sighed  as  she  moved  from  the  side  table  on  which 
the  mail  was  spread  out. 

"  Give  father  a  call,"  she  said,  and  took  up  a  position 
at  the  open  French  window. 

Her  back  was  turned  when  Bud  responded  to  the  sum- 
mons. The  cold  sluice  he  had  just  indulged  in  seemed 
to  have  entirely  restored  his  equanimity.  His  voice  came 
cheerily. 

"  Guess  we  best  set  in,  little  gal,"  he  said,  moving  to 
his  place  at  the  table.     "  We'll  need  to  get  busy  after." 

Nan  turned.  She  watched  Maimie  deposit  the  hot 
dishes.  Then,  when  the  girl  had  withdrawn,  she  took  her 
place  opposite  her  father. 

"  There's  a  deal  of  mail  for  Jeff,"  she  said,  as  she  sat 
down.  "  There's  some  for  you,  too,  Daddy.  There's  a 
letter  and — a  newspaper.  Maybe  you'd  feel  like  reading 
them  right  away.     Guess  there  won't  be  time  after." 

With  all  her  might  she  struggled  for  indifference.  With 
all  her  might  she  desired  that  her  father  should  miss  the 
fears  which  prompted  her.  But  she  only  succeeded  in 
telling  him  of  them  in  every  word  she  spoke. 

Bud  agreed  readily.  He  rose  and  fetched  his  letter — 
and  the  newspaper  which  Nan  so  feared. 

Nan  went  on  with  her  food.  Her  father  tore  open  the 
covering  of  the  letter.  She  was  watching  him  covertly 
and  silently  whilst  he  read  page  after  page.  She  was 
searching  for  confirmation  of  her  worst  fears.  She  was 
torturing  herself. 

Bud's  dissimulation  was  never  great.  Nan  watched 
the  play  of  his  expression.     There  was  no  smile.     As  the 


1 88  THE  FORFEIT 

silent  moments  passed  his  brow  became  heavier.  The 
furrow  deepened  between  his  eyes,  and  once  there  came 
that  rather  helpless  raising  of  his  hand  to  his  forehead. 
Then,  too,  she  observed  the  compression  of  his  lips,  and 
the  occasional  dilation  of  his  nostrils.  Each  observation 
carried  conviction,  and  the  weight  upon  her  heart  grew 
almost  insupportable. 

Finally  he  laid  the  letter  down  and  went  on  with  his 
meal.  But  he  did  not  even  glance  at  the  wrappered 
newspaper. 

In  self-defense  Nan  was  forced  to  break  the  silence.  If 
it  had  remained  she  felt  she  must  scream.  Instead  she 
smiled  over  at  him,  and  indicated  the  newspaper. 

"  The  Calthorpe  Times,  isn't  it  ? "  she  said  without  a 
tremor. 

"  Can't  say." 

The  harsh  tone  was  intended  to  convey  indifference. 

"Won't  you  open  it?"  she  asked.  "Maybe  Jeff's 
marked  a  piece." 

Then  Bud  gave  a  display  such  as  Nan  had  never  wit- 
nessed in  him  before. 

"  Say,  ain't  we  never  to  get  food  a  feller  ken  eat  ? " 
he  cried.  "That  nigger  slut  needs  firm'  right  away. 
Guess  she  couldn't  cook  a  dry  hash  on  a  round-up.  I'm 
quittin'.     This  stew  'ud  choke  a  she-wolf." 

His  eyes  were  hot.  He  thrust  his  plate  away  from  him 
and  pushed  back  his  chair.  But  Nan's  calmness  defeated 
his  almost  childlike  subterfuge. 

14  Say,  my  Daddy,  you  don't  need  to  quit.  Sure,"  she 
added,  a  pathetic  smile  lighting  her  brown  eyes,  "  I 
guess  the  stew's  pretty  good  to  any  hungry  folks,  and 
Maimie's  just  the  dandiest  cook  anywhere  around." 


THE  NEWS  189 

She  paused.  Bud  stood  yearning  for  five  minutes  of 
unrestrained  blasphemy  as  he  read  the  understanding 
lying  behind  her  words. 

"I  don't  guess  it's  the  food  worrying,  or  Maimie's 
cooking,"  Nan  went  on,  almost  at  once.  "  It's  your  let- 
ter. Maybe  there's  a  heap  of  things  in  it  you  aren't 
yearning  to  hand  over  to  me."  A  sigh  escaped  her. 
"  Will  I  tell  you  of  them  ?  Maybe  one'll  be  sufficient. 
It's  the  one  worrying  you  most.  It's — it's  his  marriage. 
It's  fixed.     The  date — I  mean." 

Then  she  pointed  at  the  unopened  paper. 

11  Likely  it's  in  that.  And  that's  why  he's  sent  it.  Shall 
I  see?" 

She  reached  out  and  picked  up  the  offending  packet, 
and,  with  a  swift  movement,  ripped  the  fastening  open 
with  one  finger.  Without  a  word  she  unfolded  the  sheet, 
seeking  a  marked  passage.  It  was  there,  as  she  knew  it 
would  be.  It  was  found  in  a  twinkling.  No  one  could 
have  missed  it.  Heavy  ink  outlined  it  in  the  column  of 
"  City  Chatter,"  and  she  read  the  paragraph  aloud  with- 
out a  tremor  of  voice.  Her  deliberateness  nearly  drove 
the  ranchman  to  distraction. 

"  The  friends  of  Mrs.  John  D.  Carruthers  will  be  in- 
terested to  learn  that  the  marriage  of  her  daughter, 
Mrs.  Elvine  van  Blooren,  widow  of  the  late  Robert 
van  Blooren,  to  Jeffrey  Masters,  of  the  celebrated 
'  Obar '  Ranch,  and  this  year's  President  of  the  West- 
ern Union  Cattle  Breeders'  Association,  is  to  be  sol- 
emnized at  the  Church  of  St.  Mary  in  this  city  on 
August  4th  next.  The  Rev.  Claude  I.  Carston,  M.  A., 
will " 

There  was  more  of  it,  much  more,  referring  in  the  usual 


190  THE  FORFEIT 

local  journalistic  fashion  to  the  "happy  event,"  and  dwelL 
ing  upon  the  important  "  social  standing "  of  the  bride 
and  bridegroom.  But  Nan  read  no  further  then.  There 
was  no  need  to.  Was  not  the  completeness  of  her  dis- 
aster contained  in  those  lines  ?  The  courage  of  the  front 
she  displayed  before  the  sympathetic  eyes  of  her  father 
was  superlative. 

There  was  just  a  pause.  It  was  the  tragic  pause  under 
a  staggering  blow.  Then  she  forced  a  smile  into  the 
brave  eyes,  which  never  for  a  moment  fell  before  the  oth- 
er's regard. 

"  There  !  There,  my  Daddy,"  she  said,  with  a  studied 
calm  which  did  not  cpnceal  the  dry-throated  swallow 
which  accompanied  the  words.  "  I  guess  it  was  how  I 
thought.  You  were  scared.  Scared  to  tell  me."  She 
shook  her  head.  "  It's — it's  not  very  brave,  is  it  ?  I 
wonder  why  you  were  scared  ?  You  needn't  have  been. 
Folks  don't  need  to  be  scared  of — anything.  What  you 
need  most  is  just  to — to  grit  your  teeth  and — die  hard." 

Her  manner  was  becoming  abstracted.  It  seemed  as 
if  she  were  addressing  herself,  warning  herself,  and  fight- 
ing down  a  weakness  which  was  threatening  to  overwhelm 
her. 

Presently  she  went  on,  while  the  man  stood  by  utterly 
robbed  of  the  power  to  comfort  her : 

"August  the  fourth,"  she  murmured.  "August — 
that's  six  weeks  from  now.  Six  weeks  of — sunshine  and 
— and  warmth.  When  the  harvest's  ripening,  and  all  the 
world's  just — glad.  And  he'll  be  glad,  and — and  happy, 
too.  Yes,  Jeff  will  be  very,  very  happy  because — she's 
going  to  make  him  happy." 

Quite   suddenly  she   started   up   from   her  chair.      A 


THE  NEWS  191 

dreadful  panic  had  leaped  to  her  eyes.  The  delicious, 
healthy  color  had  been  swept  from  her  pretty  downy 
cheeks.  The  corners  of  her  sweet  mouth  were  drooping, 
and  her  hands  were  held  out  in  a  gesture  of  despairing 
appeal. 

"Daddy,  Daddy,  he  will — he  will  be  happy,  won't 
he?"  she  cried.  "  I — I  just  need  him  to  be  happy,  more 
— yes,  more  than  anything  in  the  world.  Sure,  sure,  she'll 
make  him  happy  ?     Oh,  if  she  doesn't !  " 

Still  the  man  looked  on,  a  helpless  spectator  of  the 
girl's  suffering.  Nor  did  it  seem  that  his  own  was  any 
less.  But  Nan  seemed  to  realize  the  weakness  in  her 
momentary  display.  Her  hands  dropped  to  her  side. 
There  was  even  a  visible  effort  in  the  manner  in  which 
she  strove  for  self-mastery.  Her  smooth  brow  puckered 
in  an  intense  frown,  and,  to  Bud,  it  almost  seemed  that 
she  was  literally  clenching  her  teeth  to  hold  back  the  pas- 
sionate distress  which  was  seeking  to  find  expression. 

After  a  moment  something  of  full  self-possession  seemed 
to  return  to  her.  She  smiled.  But  it  was  a  smile  that 
lacked  conviction.  A  smile  that  almost  broke  her  father's 
heart.  , 

"  Tell  me,  Daddy,"  she  pleaded.  u  Do  you  think — 
he'd — he'd  have  me  be  a — a  bridesmaid  ?  Would  it  sort 
of  help  him  any  ?  "  she  hurried  on.  "  You  see,  I — I  want 
him  to  be  real  happy.  I  want  him  to  feel  that  we  just 
love  him,  and  that — that — we're  just  glad  for  him,  and— 
and  nothing  in  the  world  else  matters — to  anybody. 
I»m  so " 

There  was  a  little  catch  of  breath.  The  words  she 
would  have  spoken  died  upon  her  lips.  She  reeled. 
Every    vestige   of  color  left   her   pretty   face,   and   her 


192  THE  FORFEIT 

eyes  half  closed.  Just  for  one  weak  instant  her  hands 
groped  behind  her  for  the  chair.  Then,  the  next,  Bud 
was  at  her  side,  and  one  strong  arm  was  supporting  her. 

"  Don't,  Nan  I "  he  cried,  in  his  heavy  cumbersome 
way.  And  the  sound  of  his  deep  voice  alone  served 
to  ward  off  the  encroachment  of  that  final  weakness 
which,  in  spite  of  all  her  courage,  the  girl  was  at  last 
compelled  to  yield  to. 

Bud  drew  her  to  him,  and  one  hand  smoothed  her 
pretty  brown  hair  with  rough  tenderness.  For  a  moment 
her  head  rested  against  his  broad  bosom.  Then  a  deep 
sigh  came,  and  Nan  looked  up,  smiling  into  the  steady 
gray  eyes  gazing  down  at  her,  through  a  mist  of  welling 
tears. 

"  My  dear — dear  old  Daddy,"  she  murmured,  as  the 
tears  finally  overflowed  and  slowly  rolled  down  her 
cheeks. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  KNOCKING  ON  THE  DOOR 

It  seemed  like  the  hand  of  Destiny  that  Elvine  van 
Blooren  should  wander  across  the  path  of  Jeffrey  Masters 
at  a  moment  when  all  the  fruits  of  his  ambition  seemed  to 
be  falling  into  his  outspread  hands.  It  was  surely  the 
work  of  Fate  that  instant  recognition  of  her  desirability 
leaped  in  his  heart,  so  that  some  six  weeks  later  they  should 
set  out  on  their  life's  journey  together  on  the  eastward 
bound  mail  train,  which  bore,  in  its  foremost  van,  the 
mails  for  the  world  outside,  gathered  in  from  every  district 
in  the  region  of  Calthorpe. 

Their  happiness  was  perfect.  In  six  weeks'  time  the 
metamorphosis  in  the  woman  had  been  as  complete  as  it 
was  in  the  case  of  the  man. 

For  the  man  it  seemed  that  life  had  opened  out  an 
entirely  new  vista.  He  had  warmed  under  the  influence 
of  his  new  passion.  The  angles  in  his  character  seemed 
to  have  softened.  Achievement  had  receded  into  its  due 
proportion  in  his  focus.  The  world  had  become  peopled 
with  warm  living  creatures  whose  strivings  were  now  a 
source  of  sympathy  to  him.  Life  no  longer  moved  about 
him  detached,  unappealing. 

So  with  the  woman.  Elvine  van  Blooren's  past  was 
her  own.  Whatever  it  was  she  hugged  it  to  herself,  and 
the  very  process  of  doing  so  had  helped  to  harden  her. 

But  she  possessed  fires  she  had  wilfully  hidden,  even 


194  THE  FORFEIT 

from  herself.  For  four  years  she  had  lived  a  life  of 
desperate  calculation  against  all  those  things  she  most 
dreaded,  till  she  felt  she  had  converted  herself  into  a 
machine  free  from  all  trammeling  emotions,  equipped 
solely  to  execute  the  purpose  she  had  set  her  mind  on. 

These  fires  were  awakened  early.  Their  awakening 
had  been  all  unknown  to  her.  Yet  she  had  admitted 
them  when  she  had  warned  her  mother  that  she  intended 
to  "like"  the  man  she  ultimately  married.  All  subcon- 
sciously she  had  "  liked  "  Jeffrey  Masters  from  their  first 
formal  meeting.  Further  acquaintance  had  deepened  her 
liking.  The  keen  eyes  possessed  strong  qualities  of 
appeal.  The  decision  of  his  clean-cut  face  suggested  all 
that  strength  which  appealed  to  her. 

The  culmination  was  reached  long  before  the  appointed 
day  of  their  wedding.  It  came  at  the  moment  he  defi- 
nitely asked  her  to  become  his  wife.  It  had  been  a  mo- 
ment to  her  than  which  she  had  dreamed  of  nothing  more 
sublime.  The  flood-gates  had  been  literally  forced  open 
before  a  tide  of  sudden  passion,  which  left  her  gasping 
and  something  incredulous.  Where  was  all  the  result  of 
her  years  of  hard  calculation  ?  Where  was  that  machine 
upon  which  she  had  gazed  with  so  much  confident  pride  ? 
It  had  only  served  her  just  so  long  as  was  required  to 
realize  that  Jeffrey  Masters  was  sufficiently  desirable  to 
fulfil  the  purposes  of  the  life  she  had  marked  out  for  her- 
self. Then,  the  primitive  woman  in  her  had  abandoned 
herself  to  the  glowing  fires  burning  deep  within  her  young 
heart. 

Thus  the  bond  held  them  both  through  delicious  days, 
which  so  little  time  before  had  seemed  impossible  to 
either.     Thus  the  time  drew  on  toward  the  golden  day 


THE  KNOCKING  ON  THE  DOOR  195 

of  consummation.  And  with  each  passing  day  firmer 
and  firmer,  more  and  more  irresistible,  grew  the  ties 
under  which  they  were  held. 

As  the  local  press  had  foreshadowed,  the  event  of  their 
marriage  proved  of  primary  social  importance.  All  Cal- 
thorpe  speeded  them  upon  their  life's  journey,  and  the 
east-bound  mail  bore  them  away  with  the  echo  of  cheery 
farewells,  and  every  other  form  of  speeding,  dying  pleas- 
antly away  behind  them.  So,  too,  the  snake-like  string 
of  coaches  bore  the  burden  of  Destiny  in  the  great  unin- 
teresting, padlocked  baskets  and  bags  which  contained 
the  mail. 

The  days  of  the  honeymoon  had  been  carefully  thought 
out  by  Elvine.  Her  wishes  had  been  supreme.  Toronto 
was  their  first  destination.  A  city  whose  bright,  pleasant 
life  appealed  to  her  more,  perhaps,  even  than  any  of  the 
great  cities  of  the  greater  world. 

Perfect  happiness  was  theirs  from  the  moment  of  their 
departure  eastward.  No  cloud  drifted  in  sight  during 
their  first  day  in  the  great  hotel  from  which  they  intended 
to  view  the  life  of  Toronto.  Then  came  the  second  morn- 
ing, and  the — mail. 

They  occupied  a  suite  of  rooms  upon  the  first  floor  of 
the  hotel.  It  overlooked  the  wide  portico  which  sup- 
ported a  deep  balcony  devoted  to  their  sole  use.  Jeff  was 
alone  in  the  luxurious  sitting-room  when  the  mail  was 
brought  in  by  a  waiter.  He  was  glancing  down  the 
morning  paper  while  he  waited  for  Elvine,  who  was  pre- 
paring for  a  morning  round  of  the  stores. 

His  attention  for  the  news  he  read  was  less  than  scant. 
It  is  doubtful  if  he  read  more  than  the  head-lines,  and 
these   only  with  partial  understanding.     His  mind  was 


196  THE  FORFEIT 

upon  the  beautiful  woman  in  the  adjacent  apartment, 
arraying  herself  with  all  the  arts  of  a  woman  in  love  for 
the  benefit  of  the  man  whose  regard  is  alone  worth  while. 
His  eyes  were  smiling  unconsciously ;  something  of  the 
keenness  of  his  whole  expression  had  become  lost  under 
their  new  expression.  Dressed  in  the  simple  garb  of 
civilization  he  had  little  about  him,  beyond  the  intense 
sunburn  of  his  face,  to  remind  one  of  the  urgent  young 
ranchman  who  had  first  planned  the  combination  which 
was  to  develop  into  the  famous  Obar  Ranch. 

At  the  arrival  of  the  mail  he  flung  his  paper  aside. 
Then  he  picked  up  each  letter  in  turn,  examined  the 
address,  and  set  aside,  in  a  separate  pile,  those  addressed 
to  his  wife.  Of  his  own  there  were  only  four,  and,  of 
these,  only  the  one  addressed  in  Bud's  cumbersome  hand- 
writing interested  him  seriously. 

Before  opening  it  he  pierced  and  lit  a  cigar.  He  felt 
that  from  its  bulk  the  letter  must  contain  important  re- 
ports from  the  ranch,  and,  coming  at  such  a  time,  would 
need  the  steadying  influence  of  a  cigar  to  enable  him  to 
give  them  the  consideration  necessary.  - 

He  lounged  back  in  the  big  chair  and  leisurely  tore 
open  the  envelope. 


The  door  communicating  with  the  principal  bedroom 
opened  noiselessly.  Elvine  entered  the  sitting-room,  ac- 
companied by  that  delightful  rustle  of  silk  which  is  quite 
irresistible  to  male  ears.  At  all  times  a  beautiful  woman, 
just  now  she  was  incomparable. 

A  joy  of  life  lit  every  feature,  endowing  her  with  an 
animation  of  expression  unrecognizable  in  her  a  few  short 


THE  KNOCKING  ON  THE  DOOR  197 

weeks  ago.  There  was  a  melting  lustre  in  her  dark  eyes, 
a  gentleness  in  the  smiling  corners  of  her  irresistible 
mouth.  Her  cheeks,  even,  seemed  to  have  gained  an 
added  softness  of  contour.  While  the  masses  of  dark 
hair  revealed  beneath  her  hat  shone  with  the  burnish  of 
the  raven's  wing. 

Her  husband  had  turned  on  the  instant.  His  cigar 
was  flung  aside.  A  moment  later  he  was  on  his  feet, 
and  his  arms,  full  of  vital  impulse,  came  near  to  destroy- 
ing the  perfection  of  her  toilet. 

The  woman  made  no  protest  under  the  embrace.  It 
told  her  so  many  things  she  wanted  to  know.  It  told 
her  of  the  love  she  now  so  frankly  desired.  It  told  her, 
too,  that  the  efforts  on  her  toilet  had  not  been  ill-spent. 

Presently  Jeff  stood  back,  holding  her  at  arm's  length, 
while  his  hungry  eyes  devoured  every  feature  of  the  face 
that  had  taught  him  so  much  of  the  real  meaning  of  life. 

"  Splendid — just  splendid  1 "  he  exclaimed. 

"  My — gown  ?  " 

The  smile  was  enticing.  The  man  laughed  out  of  the 
buoyancy  of  his  heart. 

"  No — you  ! "  he  cried,  leaning  forward  for  the  embrace 
she  had  invited. 

A  moment  later  he  stood  back  again,  and  Elvine's  eyes 
fell  upon  the  mail  lying  upon  the  table. 

"Some  for  me?"  she  inquired,  moving  toward  it. 

Jeff  nodded.  Then  his  smile  died  out.  His  gaze  had 
fallen  upon  his  own  open  letter.  It  was  lying  upon  the 
table  near  the  pile  set  aside  for  his  wife,  just  where  he 
had  flung  it  down  at  the  moment  of  her  entrance. 

11  Quite  a  few,"  he  said. 

The    unsmiling   nature    of   his  response  had   caught 


198  THE  FORFEIT 

Elvine's  attention.  But  she  picked  up  her  letters  and 
glanced  hastily  through  them. 

A  moment  later  her  eyes  came  back  to  his  face. 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  finish  yours  ?  "  she  inquired. 

She  was  seeking  the  meaning  of  that  suddenly  banished 
smile. 

It  was  almost  with  eagerness  that  the  man  caught  at 
the  opportunity. 

"  It's  from  Bud,  and — I  guess  it's  important.  I've  only 
two  or  three  pages  more." 

He  picked  the  letter  up  and  sorted  the  sheets  into 
order.  Elvine  watched  him.  She  wanted  to  ask  a  dozen 
questions.     But  she  put  none  of  them. 

"  He's  your  partner,"  was  all  she  said. 

"  Yep,"  he  nodded,  with  his  eyes  on  the  pages. 

Then  Elvine  voiced  something  of  her  real  feelings  of 
the  moment. 

"I  just  hate  mail,"  she  said,  with  what  seemed  un- 
necessary force,  as  she  began  to  draw  on  her  gloves. 
"  It  always  worries  me  to  death.  I  think  it  scares  me. 
Makes  me  think  of  death,  or  disaster,  or — or  bills  and 
things."  She  laughed.  "  Maybe  it's  my  pessimistic  na- 
ture makes  me  feel  that  way.  When  things  are  all  sun- 
shiny and  fine,  why,  it  kind  of  feels  to  me  there  are 
clouds  around.  Nasty,  mean,  hateful  shadows  lurking, 
full  of " 

41  Hell  for  some  one,  eh  ?  " 

There  was  a  wry  twist  to  the  man's  lips  as  he  smiled 
his  reply. 

11  Guess  that's  how  it  is  with  mine,"  he  went  on.  "  I'll 
just  read  these  pages,  and  then  we'll  get  going.     Eh  ?  " 

The  woman's  watchful  eye  smiled  assent  and  she  con- 


THE  KNOCKING  ON  THE  DOOR  199 

tinued  to  draw  her  gloves  on.  But  her  observation  of  him 
seemed  to  gather  intensity  the  moment  he  became  ab- 
sorbed in  the  clumsy,  unskilled  handwriting. 

The  last  vestige  of  his  smile  had  gone.  His  fair  brows 
had  knitted  in  a  troubled  frown.  He  seemed  to  read 
eagerly  but  intently,  absorbed  to  an  unusual  degree. 

She  realized  the  seriousness  of  that  letter.  And  for  some 
curious  reason  alarm  supervened.  He  had  spoken  of  it 
easily,  but  his  manner  of  reading  denied  his  spoken  word. 

The  silent  moments  irked  her.  The  rustle  of  the  paper 
in  his  hands.  A  feeling  of  foreboding  grew,  a  feeling  she 
knew  was  foolish,  but  which  at  the  same  time  was  irre- 
sistible. She  found  herself  speculating  as  to  the  contents 
of  the  letter.  She  strove  to  review  all  the  possibilities 
which  the  great  Obar  Ranch  could  offer  for  disaster. 
And  her  mind  drifted  back  over  years  to  a  memory  that 
gave  her  not  a  shadow  of  comfort. 

The  last  button  of  her  gloves  had  been  secured  when 
the  refolding  of  the  letter  came.  Jeff  deliberately,  but  ab- 
stractedly, returned  it  to  its  cover.  His  smile  was  scarcely 
a  happy  one  when  he  finally  looked  up. 

"  I'm  through,  sweetheart,"  he  said.     "  Shall  we ?  " 

But  Elvine's  feelings  would  no  longer  be  denied. 

''Serious  as  all  that?"  she  demanded.  The  next  mo- 
ment she  would  have  given  worlds  to  have  been  able  to 
recall  the  words. 

"  I'm  afraid  it  is — in  a  way." 

Elvine  had  no  option  but  to  continue  the  subject.  She 
spoke  with  real  feeling. 

"  May  I  know,  dear  ?  "  she  appealed.  "  You  see,  Jeff, 
things  often  read  worse  than  they  are.  Maybe  I  can 
help.     I've  a  clearer  head  than  you'd  guess." 


200  THE  FORFEIT 

The  man's  cheeks  flushed.  He  had  distressed  her, 
frightened  her,  and  the  thought  of  it  annoyed  him.  He 
stepped  toward  her,  his  hands  outheld.  She  responded, 
and  her  hands  were  caught  in  his  firm  warm  clasp. 

11  Say,  I'm  just  sorry.  I  surely  am.  Guess  I've  no  sort 
of  right  scaring  you.  Anyway,  there's  nothing  to  be 
scared  about.     Just  a  bunch  of  rustlers " 

"  Cattle  thieves?" 

The  woman's  whole  expression  had  become  transformed. 
The  announcement  had  shocked  her  out  of  her  self-pos- 
session. Her  smile  had  fled.  Her  eyes  were  wide,  and 
their  dark  depths  were  full  of  a  horror  that  seemed  quite 
uncalled  for.  Even  her  cheeks  had  lost  their  delicate 
bloom.  Her  gaze  was  held  fast  by  the  man's  steady  re- 
gard. It  was  almost  a  fascinated  stare  held  under  some 
powerful  hypnotic  influence. 

The  man  was  at  a  loss.  But  he  promptly  claimed  the 
fault  to  himself. 

"  Don't  just  worry  a  thing,  Evie,"  he  cried,  in  real  dis- 
tress. "  It  don't  amount  to  anything.  And  anyway  you 
don't  need  to  worry.  We  can  deal  with  it.  I  best  tell 
you  right  away.  You  see,  it's  their  second  play  since 
I've  been  from  home.  Bud's  feeling  sore.  First  it  was  a 
great  imported  bull  they  shot  up  while  they  ran  off  his 
cows,  and  a  dandy  bunch  of  yearling  prize  stock.  Now 
— now  it's  a  swell  bunch  of  fifty  beeves  that  had  been  fat- 
tening for  the  buyers.  The  loss  don't  hurt.  Oh,  no,  it's 
not  that." 

He  paused.  Somehow  their  hands  fell  apart,  and,  to 
the  woman,  now  recovering  herself,  it  was  as  though  some 
shadow  had  thrust  itself  between  them.  She  waited, 
vaguely  troubled.     Somehow  speech  for  the  moment  had 


THE  KNOCKING  ON  THE  DOOR  201 

become  impossible  to  her.  She  was  thinking,  thinking 
far  back  amidst  scenes  she  had  no  desire  to  recall. 

Her  husband  went  on.  His  manner  had  lost  all  the 
contrition  he  had  displayed  at  alarming  her.  It  was  ab- 
stracted. He  too  seemed  to  be  thinking  deeply,  far  away 
amidst  scenes  which  afforded  him  only  the  deepest 
pain. 

"  I've  just  thought,"  he  said.  Then  he  raised  one  strong 
hand  and  passed  it  across  his  broad  forehead.  He  drew 
a  profound  sigh.  "  Say,  I  wonder,"  he  went  on  reflect- 
ively. "  It's  things  Bud's  said  in  his  yarn.  Suspicions. 
They  brought  up  all  sorts  of  queer  things  to  my  mind." 

The  smile  he  essayed  was  a  hopeless  failure.  Then,  in 
a  moment,  all  doubt  seemed  to  pass  away  and  he  spoke 
with  quick,  keen  decision. 

"  I'll  have  to  tell  you,  Evie.  You'd  sort  of  made  me 
forget.  These  days  have  been  the  happiest  I've  ever 
known,  and  you've  made  'em  so.  That's  how  I  forgot  to 
tell  you  of  things  I  guess  you  ought  to  know." 

But  the  woman  before  him  had  no  desire  for  his  pres- 
ent mood.  She  smilingly  shook  her  head  in  a  decided 
negative.  The  last  thing  she  desired  was  anything  in  the 
nature  of  a  confidence. 

"Is  there  any  need— now?"  she  asked.  Then  she 
smiled.     "  The  stores  are  waiting." 

But  she  had  yet  to  learn  the  real  character  of  the  man 
whom  she  had  married.  She  had  yet  to  understand  the 
meaning  of  the  simple  sobriquet  "  Honest  Jeff,"  which 
Nan  Tristram  had  long  since  bestowed  upon  him.  He 
was  not  the  man  to  be  turned  from  a  decision  once  taken. 
The  decision  on  this  occasion  was  arrived  at  through  the 
depth  of  the  passionate  devotion  which   controlled  his 


202  THE  FORFEIT 

every  thought.  His  love  for  Elvine  made  his  purpose 
only  the  more  irrevocable. 

"  I  think  they  had  best  wait  a  shade  longer,"  he  said 
with  a  shadowy  smile.  "  You  see,  Evie,  I  kind  of  figure 
there's  things  that  matter  more  than  just  gathering  in  the 
fancy  goods  money'll  buy — even  for  you.  Guess  I  owe 
you  most  everything  a  man  can  give,  the  same  as  you 
feel  toward  me.  That's  how  marriage — marriage  like 
ours — seems  to  me.  As  far  as  I  can  make  it  there's  not 
going  to  be  a  thing  on  my  conscience  toward  you.  I'd 
have  told  you  this  before,  only — only  you  just  drove  it 
right  out  of  my  head  with  the  sight  of  your  beautiful  face, 
the  sound  of  your  voice,  which  I  just  love,  and  the  thought 
that  you — you  were  to  be  my  wife.  You  see,"  he  went 
on  simply,  "  I  hadn't  room  in  my  head  for  any  thing  else." 

His  manner  was  so  firmly  gentle  that  Elvine's  protest 
melted   before   it.     After  all   it  was  very  sweet,   and — 

and She  drew  a  chair  forward  and  sat  down.     But 

her  smile  hid  her  real  feelings.  Confidences,  confessions, 
even  from  a  husband,  were  repugnant  to  her. 

Jeff  remained  standing.  He  gazed  for  a  few  silent 
moments  in  the  direction  of  the  open  window.  The  ex- 
pression of  his  blue  eyes  suggested  a  deep,  searching 
introspection.  He  might  have  been  searching  for  an 
opening.  Again,  he  might  simply  have  been  reviewing 
scenes  which  stirred  his  innermost  soul  with  their  horror 
and  pain. 

At  last,  however,  Elvine  made  a  half  impatient  move- 
ment. Instantly  the  blue  eyes  turned  in  her  direction, 
and  their  expression  startled  her.  They  were  full  of  a 
stony,  passionless  regard.  Not  for  her,  but  inspired  by 
the  thought  behind  them.     She  shivered  under  their  gaze 


THE  KNOCKING  ON  THE  DOOR  203 

and  their  impression  upon  her  was  never  afterward  oblit- 
erated. 

"  It's  four  years  past  now/'  he  began,  in  a  voice  she 
scarcely  recognized.  "  These  rustlers  brought  it  all  back 
to  me.  Say,  Evie,  I  had  a  twin  brother,  Ronald.  Maybe 
that  won't  convey  much.  I  sort  of  loved  him — better 
than  myself.  That's  all.  He  was  a  bit  queer.  I  mean 
he  just  didn't  care  a  heap  for  running  along  the  main 
trail  of  things.  He  was  apt  to  get  all  mussed  up  run- 
ning around  byways.  Well,  when  Bud  and  I  fixed  up 
the  Obar  partnership,  I  was  just  crazy  to  hunt  Ronny 
down,  and  hand  him  a  share.  Bud's  a  great  feller,  and  I 
told  him.  I  knew  whereabouts  the  boy  had  staked  out, 
and,  figuring  we'd  earned  a  vacation,  Bud  and  I  set  out 
to  round  him  up,  and  hand  him  a  piece  which  I  guessed 
would  keep  him  with  me  the  rest  of  his  life." 

He  paused.  He  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  his  eyes, 
hard  as  marble,  had  turned  again  in  the  direction  of  the 
window. 

Elvine  was  held  even  against  herself.  The  expression 
of  his  eyes,  even  more  than  the  curious  sharpness  of  his 
voice,  troubled  her,  alarmed  her. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  yarn  more  than  necessary,"  he  went 
on  after  a  moment.  "  There  isn't  any  need.  I  just  want 
to  give  you  the  deadly  facts.  As  I  said,  I  knew  his  lay- 
out, where  he  was — supposed  to  be  trapping  pelts.  Sup- 
posed. Bud  had  been  raised  in  the  district,  so  he  acted 
scout.  He  made  the  location  and  found  him.  D'you 
know  how?" 

There  was  a  restrained  fierceness  in  the  sharp  demand. 
The  woman  shook  her  head.  Any  word  would  have 
seemed  out  of  place. 


204  THE  FORFEIT 

"  Hanging  by  the  neck  to  the  bough  of  a  tree." 

"Jeff,  don't!"  the  woman  gasped. 

But  now  there  was  a  smile  in  the  man's  eyes.  It  was 
a  terrible  smile  which  drove  every  vestige  of  color  from 
his  wife's  cheeks. 

"  I  had  to  tell  you,"  he  cried  harshly.  "  They  hanged 
him  for  a  cattle  thief.  He  was  one.  Oh,  yes.  He  was 
one.     That's  why  I  had  to  tell  you." 

The  woman's  eyes  were  wide  with  a  sudden  terror  to 
which  the  man  remained  oblivious. 

"  But  you  said " 

"  I  said  he  was  pelt  hunting.  So  he'd  told  me.  So  I 
believed.  But  he  wasn't.  Say,  he  was  a  cattle  rustler 
running  a  big  gang  who'd  played  hell  with  the  district. 
He'd  been  running  it  for  nigh  five  years.  He'd  beaten 
'em  to  a  mush,  all  that  time,  till  a  reward  was  offered. 
A  reward  of  ten  thousand  dollars.  That  fixed  him. 
There  was  some  one  knew  wanted  that  reward,  and — 
got  it." 

There  was  a  sudden  movement  in  the  room.  Elvine 
had  abruptly  risen  from  her  chair.  She  moved  away. 
She  crossed  to  the  window,  and  stood  with  her  back 
turned,  and  so  had  thrust  herself  into  her  husband's  focus. 

"  It's — it's  a  terrible — dreadful  story,"  came  her  falter- 
ing comment. 

"  Terrible  ?  Dreadful  ?  "  The  man  emitted  a  sound 
that  might  have  been  a  laugh.  A  shudder  passed  down 
the  woman's  back  as  it  fell  upon  her  ears.  "  But  it's 
nothing  to  the  reality,  Evie.  Oh,  I've  no  sympathy  for 
his  crimes.  I  hate  rustlers  like  the  poison  they  are.  But 
he  was  twin  to  me,  and  I  loved  him.  It  made  no  differ- 
ence to  me.     You  see,  he  was  part  of  me.     Now — now  I 


THE  KNOCKING  ON  THE  DOOR  205 

only  hope  the  good  God'll  let  me  come  up  with  the  man 
who  took  the  price  of  his  blood.  For  four  years  I've 
dreamed  that  way,  and  I  guess  it  don't  matter  if  it's  fifty 
more.  I'll  never  change.  There's  some  one,  somewhere, 
who's  lower  down  than  the  worst  cattle  rustler  ever  lived." 

There  was  no  response  as  the  man  ceased  speaking. 
Elvine  had  not  stirred  from  her  place  at  the  window. 
The  moments  passed.  Swift,  poignant  moments,  in  which 
two  people  were  enduring  an  agony  of  recollection. 

The  man's  relentless  expression  never  changed.  His 
eyes  were  gazing  straight  ahead.  And  though  his  vision 
was  obstructed  by  the  perfect  contours  of  his  wife's  figure, 
he  was  gazing  through  her,  and  beyond  her,  upon  a 
scene  which  had  for  its  central  interest  the  suspended 
figure  of  a  man  with  his  head  lolling  forward  and  side- 
ways, and  his  dead  eyes  bulging  from  their  sockets. 

Elvine  never  stirred.  Her  gaze  was  upon  the  crowded 
thoroughfare  beyond.  But  like  her  husband,  she  was 
gazing  through  and  beyond.  She  was  watching  the 
tongues  of  flame  as  they  licked  up  the  resinous  trunks 
and  foliage  of  a  great  pine  bluff. 

At  length  it  was  the  woman's  voice  broke  the  silence. 

"  Where — where  did  this  all  happen  ?  " 

The  question  was  the  verbal  expression  of  a  despairing 
hope.     The  voice,  however,  was  steady. 

"  In  the  Cathills." 

"The  Lightfoot  gang?" 

"  Yes.    That's  what  he  called  it.    You  knew  of  them  ?  n 

There  was  a  slight  movement  of  the  woman's  shoul- 
ders.    It  was  the  faintest  possible  shrug. 

"  Everybody  in  Calthorpe  heard  of  them." 

Then  she  turned  and  faced  him.    The  mask  with  which 


206  THE  FORFEIT 

she  confronted  him  was  perfect.  Her  dark  beauty  was 
unimpaired  by  a  sign  of  emotion.  Even  her  cheeks  had 
returned  to  their  customary  delicate  bloom.  Her  eyes 
shone  with  a  world  of  sympathy  as  she  came  toward  him. 

"Jeff,  don't  think  of  it  all — now,  dear.  It's  too,  too 
dreadful.  Guess  I  was  wrong  to  let  you  tell  me.  I  cer- 
tainly was.  It's  past.  It's  done  with.  Nothing  can  ever 
bring  him  back  to  you.  To  dwell  upon  it,  to  think  and 
feel  that  way,  will  only  serve  to  embitter  your  life.  Say, 
try,  Jeff.  I'll  help  you,  dear.  I  will.  Sure.  Sure.  Won't 
you  try,  for — my  sake  ?  " 

The  man  took  her  hands  in  his.  He  drew  her  toward 
him.  The  strained  expression  of  his  eyes  melted  before 
her  perfect  beauty. 

"  I'll  try,  Evie,"  he  said,  without  conviction.  Then  he 
kissed  her. 

After  a  while  she  looked  up. 

"And  the  stores,  Jeff?" 

The  man  smiled  down  in  response. 

'*  Sure — the  stores." 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  HOME-COMING 

Six  weeks  of  all  she  had  ever  hoped  for,  dreamed  of,  in 
the  lean  years  of  heart  starvation.  The  complete  devo- 
tion of  a  strong  man,  a  man  who  held  a  place  in  the 
world  she  knew.  Every  luxury  wealth  could  purchase 
at  her  disposal,  even  to  satiation.  Her  every  whim 
ministered  to,  and  even  anticipated.  This  was  something 
of  the  ripe  fruit  literally  heaped  into  Elvine's  lap.  She 
had  longed  for  it,  schemed  for  it,  and  Providence  had 
permitted  all  her  efforts  complete  success. 

Now,  with  those  six  weeks  behind  her,  she  gazed  upon 
the  balance-sheet.  She  looked  for  the  balance  of  happi- 
ness. To  her  horror  it  was  blotted  out,  smudged  out  of 
all  recognition.  Oh,  yes,  the  figures  had  been  entered, 
but  now  they  were  completely  obscured. 

It  was  the  last  stage  of  her  journey  to  her  new  home. 
It  was  a  journey  being  made  in  the  saddle.  Their  bag- 
gage, a  large  number  of  trunks  loaded  with  the  precious 
gleanings  from  the  great  stores  during  the  honeymoon, 
had  been  sent  on  ahead  by  wagon.  There  was  nothing, 
so  far  as  could  be  seen,  to  rob  the  home-coming  of  its 
proper  sense  of  delight.  Yet  delight  was  more  than  far 
off.  Elvine  was  a  prey  to  a  hopelessness  which  nothing 
seemed  able  to  relieve. 

Summer  was  not  yet  over,  although  the  signs  of  the 
coming  fall  were  by  no  means  lacking.     The  hard  trail, 


208  THE  FORFEIT 

like  some  carefully  set  out  terra-cotta  ribbon  upon  a  field 
of  tawny  green,  took  them  through  a  region  of  busy 
harvesting.  The  tractors  and  threshers  were  busily  en- 
gaged in  many  directions.  Great  stacks  of  straw  testified 
to  the  ample  harvest  in  progress.  Fall  ploughing  had 
already  begun,  and  high-wheeled  wagons  bore  their 
burden  of  produce  toward  the  distant  elevators.  Then, 
too,  human  freight  passed  them,  happy,  smiling  freight 
of  old  and  young,  whose  sun-scorched  faces  reflected 
something  of  the  joy  of  life  and  general  prosperity 
prevailing. 

A  radiant  sun  looked  down  upon  the  scenes  through 
which  they  passed.  It  was  the  wonderful  ripening  God 
almost  worshipped  of  these  people  who  lived  by  the 
fruits  of  the  earth.  Jeffrey  Masters  understood  it  all, 
and  reveled  in  the  pleasant  senses  it  stirred.  For  he, 
too,  lived  by  the  fruits  of  the  earth,  although  his  harvest 
was  garnered  in  the  flesh  of  creature  kind. 

Elvine  looked  on  with  eyes  that  beheld  but  saw  nothing 
of  that  which  inspired  her  husband.  Remembrance 
claimed  her.  Too  well  she  remembered.  And  gladly 
would  she  have  shut  out  such  sights  altogether,  for  more 
and  more  surely  they  crushed  her  already  depressed  spirits 
to  a  depth  from  which  it  seemed  impossible  to  raise  them. 

Nor  was  her  beautiful  face  without  some  reflection  of 
this.  Her  smile  was  ready  for  the  man  at  her  side.  She 
laughed  and  talked  in  a  manner  so  care-free  that  he  could 
never  have  suspected.  But  in  repose,  when  no  eyes  were 
upon  her,  a  lurking,  hunted  dread  peered  furtively  out  of 
her  dark  eyes,  and  the  fine-drawn  lines  gathered  about 
her  shapely  lips,  and  seriously  marred  the  serenity  of  their 
youthful  contours. 


THE  HOME-COMING  209 

She  had  one  purpose  now,  one  only.  It  was  to  ward 
off  the  blow  which  she  knew  might  fall  at  any  moment 
when  she  reached  her  new  home.  The  threat  of  it  was 
with  her  always.  It  drove  her  to  panic  in  the  dark  of 
night.  It  left  her  watchful  and  fearful  in  the  light  of  day. 
At  all  times  the  memory  of  her  husband's  words  dinned 
through  her  brain  like  the  haunt  of  some  sickening 
melody. 

"  Now  I  only  hope  the  good  God'll  let  me  come  up 
with  the  man  who  took  the  price  of  his  blood." 

It  had  been  spoken  coldly0  It  had  been  spoken  with 
an  intensity  of  bitterness  that  left  an  impression  as  hard 
as  flint.  The  tone  had  set  her  shuddering.  Then  the 
look  in  those  cold  blue  eyes  when  at  last  she  had  turned 
confronting  them.  No,  there  had  been  no  mercy  in  them. 
No  mercy,  she  told  herself,  for — anybody. 

At  that  moment  she  had  known  that  the  earth  could 
hold  no  future  peace  for  her.  She  felt  that  Fate  had 
passed  sentence  on  her,  and  she  was  powerless  to  stay 
its  execution.  Her  husband  demanded  vengeance  upon 
the  man  who  had  accepted  the  price  of  his  brother's 
blood. 

For  the  moment  she  had  been  stunned.  Then  had 
risen  up  in  her  a  desperate  courage.  She  would  fight. 
She  would  fight  for  herself,  she  would  fight  for  the  love 
which  all  unbidden,  all  undesired,  had  come  to  her. 
Then,  in  the  end,  if  defeat  should  overtake  her,  she 
would,  yes,  she  could,  submit  to  the  punishment  his  hand 
should  mete  out  to  her. 

Strangely,  from  that  moment  her  love  for  this  man 
seemed  to  increase  a  thousandfold.  He  grew  in  her 
heart  a  towering  colossus  of  worship.     The  primitive  in 


210  THE  FORFEIT 

her  bowed  down  before  his  image  ready  to  yield  to  his 
lightest  word,  while,  by  every  art,  she  was  ready  to  cajole 
and  foster  his  love. 

It  was  all  she  knew,  understood.  It  was  the  woman 
in  her  who  possessed  no  other  weapons  of  defense.  She 
loved  him,  she  desired  him,  then  nothing  was  too  small 
to  cling  to  with  the  wild  hope  of  the  drowning.  When 
the  day  came  that  he  should  turn  and  rend  her  soul  she 
could  submit.  But  until  that  day  she  would  cling  to 
every  straw  that  offered. 

While  the  scenes  through  which  they  were  passing 
preoccupied  the  man,  the  silence  of  the  wide  plains  left 
Elvine  to  her  fears.  The  great  breadth  of  the  world 
about  her  added  to  her  hopelessness.  And  after  a  silence 
which  had  become  unduly  protracted,  she  took  refuge  in 
talk  for  which  she  had  no  real  desire. 

"It's  beautiful,  but — oppressive,"  she  said,  and  the 
words  were  the  inspiration  of  genuine  thought. 

But  the  man  was  like  one  who  has  spent  a  world  of 
love  and  devotion  upon  carving  a  beautiful  setting  and 
is  now  about  to  complete  his  work  by  securing  in  place 
the  crowning  jewel.  He  had  no  room  for  any  feeling  of 
oppression.     He  shook  his  head. 

"  Say,  Evie,"  he  cried,  "  I  just  can't  allow  you  the  word 
1  oppressive.'  I  just  can't.  Look — look  right  out  there 
toward  the  hills  we're  making.  Take  the  colors  as  they 
heap  up  to  the  distance.  Every  shade,  I  guess,  from  green 
to  purple.  It  makes  me  feel  good.  It  gives  me  room  to 
stretch  myself.  It  sort  o'  sweeps  away  a  whole  heap  of 
fusty  city  smells,  and  gives  us  something  a  deal  more 
worth  breathing.  It's  a  man's  place.  And  it's  full  of 
man's  work.     Guess  Providence  got  busy  an'  set  it  all 


THE  HOME-COMING  211 

out  for  us.  Providence  guessed  we'd  have  to  use  it. 
But  Providence  didn't  just  guess  how  far  crazy  human 
nature  really  was.  She  didn't  foresee  we'd  gather  around 
in  the  musty  dump-holes  we  call  cities.  She  didn't  figure 
on  our  tastes  for  the  flesh-pots,  and  the  indulgence  of  the 
senses  she'd  handed  us.  But  then  Providence  knows  her 
power  to  fix  us  right  when  she  feels  that  way."  Then  he 
spread  out  his  arms  with  an  inexpressible  suggestion  of 
longing.  "  Say,  I'm  crazy — plumb  crazy  to  get  the  first 
peek  at  that  dandy  home  I've  had  fixed  for  you." 

The  woman's  eyes  sought  her  husband's  with  a  smile 
that  was  a  caress. 

"  You're  good  to  me,  Jeff,"  she  said.  Then  she  added  : 
"  So  good."  Her  smile  deepened.  "  You'd  hand  me  the 
world  with — with  a  fence  around  it,  if  I  asked.  Why  ? 
Why  are  you  like  that?" 

It  was  the  love  in  her  seeking  reassurance.  Nor  was 
she  disappointed. 

"  Why  ? "  The  man  laughed.  And  the  sound  of  it 
was  good  to  hear.  It  was  deep,  and  seemed  to  come 
from  the  depths  of  his  soul.  His  blue  eyes  shone  with  a 
world  of  devotion.  "  Guess  I  love  you — just  that,"  he 
said.  Then  he  pointed  at  the  distant  hills.  "  I  can't  tell 
you  all  I  feel,  Elvie,"  he  said,  "  but  get  those  hills.  See 
them.  There,  that  peak,  sitting  right  up  over  its  fellows, 
with  a  cap  of  snow  on  it  I  don't  guess  the  sun  could  ever 
melt.  That's  thousands  of  feet  up.  I'd  say  man's  foot 
was  never  set  there,  nor  bird's,  nor  animal's  either.  Well, 
if  that  peak  was  a  throne  it  'ud  give  you  pleasure  to  oc- 
cupy, why,  I  guess  I'd  just  go  the  limit  to  have  you  sit 
there." 

Elvine  was  gazing  at  the  mountain  crest,  but  she  was 


212  THE  FORFEIT 

not  thinking  of  it.  She  was  thinking  of  the  love  which 
the  extravagant  words  expressed,  and  she  was  wondering 
at  the  bigness  of  it.  She  was  caught  in  its  power,  and  it 
thrilled  her  with  an  even  greater  appreciation  of  her  dan- 
ger. What  would  be  the  result  upon  such  a  nature  as 
this  man's  when — he  knew  ? 

"  I  believe  you  would,"  she  said,  her  eyes  coming  back 
to  the  strong,  flushed  face.     Then  she  added  :  "  Now." 

"Now?" 

There  was  a  quick  lifting  in  the  man's  fair  brows. 
There  was  incredulity  in  his  tone.  To  him  it  seemed  im- 
possible, the  implied  doubt  in  her  final  word. 

u  I  don't  change  easy,  Elvie,"  he  protested.  "  I  kind 
of  get  things  hard.  It's  my  way,  and  it's  no  doing  of 
mine.  Life's  a  full-sized  proposition,  and  I  don't  guess 
we  can  see  far  through  it.  But  I  can't  imagine  a  thing 
that  could  come  before  you  in  my  thoughts." 

"  I'd  like  to  think  that.  I'd  like  to  feel  that,"  Elvine 
returned.  She  was  smiling  up  into  his  eyes.  "  You 
see,  Jeff,  I  was  kind  of  thinking.  We're  young  now. 
We've  been  together  just  six  weeks.  Maybe  you'll  get 
used  to  me  later.  Men  do  get  used  to  women  till  they 
become  sort  of  part  of  the  furniture.  Oh,  I  guess  their 
love  goes  right  on,  but — but  they  wouldn't  feel  like  start- 
ing in  to  fence  in  the  North  Pole,  or — or  hitch  up  Niagara 
to  their  wife's  buggy  just  because  she  fancied  that  way. 
Say,  Jeff,  when  I  lose  your  love  I  just  lose  everything  in 
the  world.  You — you  won't  ever  let  me  lose  it,  will 
you?" 

Jeff  shook  his  head,  and  smiled  in  the  confidence  of  his 
feelings. 

"  Pon't  ever  talk  that  way.     Don't  ever  think  like  that," 


THE  HOME-COMING  213 

he  urged  her.  Then,  as  their  horses  ambled  side  by  side 
up  the  last  gentle  incline  before  they  dropped  down  to  the 
great  plain  of  the  Rainbow  Hill  Valley,  which  was  the 
setting  of  the  Obar  Ranch,  he  drew  nearer  and  reached 
out  one  arm  and  gently  encircled  her  waist.  "  Guess 
you're  feeling  like  me  just  now,  Evie.  Do  you  know 
what  I  mean?  We're  getting  home.  Home — yours 
and  mine.  Well,  say,  that  home  is  in  my  mind  now,  and 
it's  full  to  the  brim  of  thoughts  of  you.  You're  in  it — 
everywhere.  You're  part  of  it.  You're  just  part  of  me. 
I  can't  see  any  future  without  you.  It  don't  seem  to  me 
there  could  be  any.  I  don't  doubt.  I  guess  the  thought 
of  it  don't  scare  me  a  thing.  Maybe  with  you  it's  differ- 
ent Maybe  you're  scared  such  happiness  can't  last.  But 
I  tell  you  it  can — it  will.  You're  with  me  now  and  always, 
and  I  can't  see  a  shadow  that  could  come  between  us." 

"  None  ?     No,  none,  none  ! " 

The  woman  forced  conviction  into  her  final  denial,  and, 
for  a  moment,  she  permitted  herself  to  yield  to  the  reassur- 
ing embrace.     Then  she  started  up  and  released  herself. 

"Oh,  Jeff!"  she  cried.  "I  just  pray  all  the  time  that 
nothing  shall  ever  rob  me  of  your  love.  Night  and  day  I 
pray  that  way.  If  I  were  to  lose  you,  I — I  think  nothing 
else  would  much  matter." 

The  man  smiled  with  supreme  confidence.  They  had 
reached  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  he  set  his  horse  into  a 
canter. 

"  You're  just  going  to  live  right  on — for  me,  sweet- 
heart," he  cried.  "  Be  yourself.  Just  yourself.  The 
frank,  honest  woman  I  know  and  love.  If  ever  the  shad- 
ows you  fear  come  to  worry  us,  they'll  have  to  be  of  your 
own  creating.     We  have  nothing  to  fear  from  the  future, 


214  THE  FORFEIT 

nothing  at  all.  We'll  just  drive  right  on  down  the  clear 
trail  of  life.  It's  only  in  the  byways  there's  any  ugly 
dumps.  Look ! "  He  suddenly  flung  out  one  arm, 
pointing  ahead  where  the  great  Obar  plains  rolled  away 
toward  the  hills  below  them.  "  That's  the  ranch.  There. 
That  one  there  is  Bud's  homestead,  and  the  other  to  the 
right's  your — our  home.  Say,  it's  good  to  see — mighty 
good  1 " 

•  •  •  •  •  « 

Nan  gazed  upon  the  result  of  her  labors  and  decided 
that  it  was  good.  Bud  was  observing  her  in  his  unob- 
trusive way.  They  were  together  in  the  new  parlor  of 
the  home  which  Jeff  had  had  reconstructed  under  Nan's 
most  careful  supervision. 

The  girl  had  put  forth  her  greatest  effort,  greater  even 
than  she  herself  realized,  for  it  had  been  inspired  by  a  de- 
sire that  Jeff  and  his  wife  should  never  realize  the  pain 
and  bitter  disappointment  she  had  endured. 

Now,  as  she  surveyed  each  detail  in  her  final  tour  of 
inspection,  she  convinced  herself  that  nothing,  nothing 
she  could  think  of  had  been  forgotten.  Even  the  city- 
bred  Elvine  could  find  no  fault  with  any  detail  of  it. 

She  and  Bud  were  standing  side  by  side  rather  like  two 
children  gazing  in  awed  wonder  at  some  undreamed  of 
splendor  suddenly  discovered  in  a  familiar  playground, 
every  square  foot  of  which  they  had  believed  themselves 
familiar  with. 

"  I — don't  think  I've  forgotten  a  thing,"  Nan  said,  in  a 
tone  subdued  by  her  weight  of  responsibility. 

"  Not  a  thing,"  agreed  Bud,  with  a  perfect  disregard 
for  any  consequences  his  statement  might  have. 

He  was  utterly  unchanged.     He  had  made  no  prepara- 


THE  HOME-COMING  215 

tion  to  receive  the  bride  and  bridegroom  in  their  home. 
He  was  just  the  cattleman  nothing  could  change  him  from. 
His  gray  flannel  shirt  was  agape  over  his  sunburned 
chest.  His  leather  chapps  creaked  as  he  moved,  his 
vicious  spurs  clanked.  Then,  too,  the  curling  iron-gray 
hair  of  his  bared  head  was  innocent  of  all  extra  combing. 
With  Nan  it  was  different.  She  had  striven  to  rid  herself 
of  every  sign  of  the  prairie  to  which  she  belonged.  She 
was  dressed  with  consummate  care.  Every  jealous  feel- 
ing of  the  woman  in  her  had  cried  out  for  her  rights,  and 
those  rights  were  that  her  successful  rival  should  be  un- 
able to  sneer  at  or  pity  her. 

The  result  was  a  delightful  picture  that  filled  Bud's 
heart  with  admiration.  And  for  perhaps  the  thousandth 
time  he  silently  anathematized  the  blind  folly  of  the  man 
who  had  wilfully  cast  his  eyes  in  another  direction. 

Nan  seated  herself  in  one  of  the  luxuriously  inviting 
armchairs,  while  Bud  insinuated  his  huge  form  on  to  the 
polished  surface  of  a  large  central  table. 

"  You  know,  Daddy,  I  sort  of  feel  like  a  feller  who's 
guessed  the  right  answer  to  a  question  he  hadn't  a  notion 
of.  Maybe  you  won't  get  just  how  I  mean."  The  smile 
in  her  pretty  eyes  changed  to  a  deep  seriousness.  "  You 
know  when  I  was  a  little  teeny  girl  all  mud  and  overall, 
that  never  could  keep  me  within  measurable  distance  of 
being  clean,  you  used  to  talk  to  me  just  as  if  you  were 
speaking  your  thoughts  aloud.  Guess  it  was  about  the 
time  poor  Momma  died,  or  maybe  soon  after.  I  kind 
of  remember  you  were  squatting  Indian  fashion  on  the 
veranda  of  our  shack,  I'd  been  busy  in  the  hopes  of 
drowning  myself  in  a  half  dry  mud  hole,  and  had  mostly 
succeeded  in  absorbing  more  of  the  dirt  than  seemed 


216  THE  FORFEIT 

good  for  a  single  meal.  Guess  I  must  have  started  to 
cry,  and  you'd  reached  out  and  grabbed  me,  and  fetched 
me  up  on  your  lap,  and  were  handing  me  a  few  words 
you  reckoned  to  cheer  me  up  with.  Do  you  remember 
them,  my  Daddy  ?  I  don't  guess  you  do.  I  didn't  till  a 
while  later,  and  then  I  didn't  figure  out  their  meaning  till 
I  went  to  school.  You  said,  ■  Tears  is  only  for  kiddies 
an'  grown  women.  Kiddies  mostly  cry  because  they 
don't  understand,  an'  grown  women  because  they  do. 
Anyway,  neither  of  'em  need  to  cry,  if  they  only  get  busy 
an'  think  a  while.  Ther'  ain't  a  thing  in  this  life  calls  for 
a  tear  from  a  living  soul,  not  even  a  stomachful  of  moist 
mud,  'cos,  you  see,  ther's  Someone  who  fixes  everything 
the  way  it  should  go,  an'  it's  the  right  way.  So  we'll  jest 
give  you  a  dose  of  physic  to  help  boost  the  show  along.'  " 
She  glanced  round  her  with  smiling  eyes  at  the  tastefully 
arrayed  furnishings  of  the  parlor.  "This  has  been  the 
dose  of  physic  I  gave  myself,  and — and  I  feel  better  for 
it.  I  had  the  mud,  and,  why,  the  tears  came  just  as  they 
did  before.  Maybe  if  I'd  been  able  to  think  right  I 
wouldn't  have  shed  them.  But  I  just  couldn't  think  right 
then.  But  I've  thought  since,  and  the  physic's  helped 
me.     Do — do  you  think  he'll  like  it  all  ?  " 

The  contemplative  gaze  of  her  father  was  full  of  gentle 
amusement. 

"  Sure  he  will — if  he  ain't  changed  any." 

Nan  shook  her  head. 

"  Jeff  couldn't  change.  Even  marriage  couldn't  change 
Jeff.  You  see,  Jeffs  got  notions  of  life  which  are  just 
part  of  him.  Maybe  he'll  soften  some  in  ways  and  things, 
but  his  notions  '11  remain,  and  they'll  stand  right  out  in 
all  he  does." 


THE  HOME-COMING  217 

But  Bud  remained  without  conviction. 

"  A  good  woman  can  set  a  big  man  hunting  a  halo," 
he  said.  "  An*  I  allow  he's  li'ble  to  find  it,  if  she  don't 
weaken  in  her  play.  But  a  bad  woman — why,  I  guess  a 
bad  woman  can  send  him  down  quicker  than  most  things 
in  life,  once  she  tucks  herself  into  a  corner  of  his  life 
depot" 

"  But  Jeff  would  never  fall  in  love  with  a  bad  woman," 
Nan  protested  swiftly,  an  odd  little  pucker  of  anxiety 
gathering  between  her  brows.  "  I — I'm  sure  his  wife's  a 
good  woman." 

"  An'  I  ain't  any  sort  o'  reason  to  think  diff'rent." 

"  But  you  do  think — that  way." 

Nan's  understanding  of  her  father  was  wide.  It  could 
scarcely  have  been  otherwise,  since  he  had  been  her  sole 
companion  for  so  many  years. 

But  Bud  was  to  be  drawn  no  further. 

"  Ther'  ain't  no  accounting  fer  how  folks  think  when 
they  ain't  out  on  a  joy  trip,"  he  grumbled,  as  he  moved 
across  to  the  open  window,  and  stood  gazing  out  over 
the  trail  from  the  northeast.  Then  all  further  discussion 
was  abandoned  in  a  small  wave  of  excitement.  He  was 
pointing  down  the  trail 

"  Say,  they're  coming  right  along  now.     An' " 

But  Nan  was  at  his  side.  Something  of  the  color  had 
faded  out  of  her  cheeks,  and  she  clung  to  her  father's 
arm  as  she  gazed  along  the  narrow  winding  road.  Her 
breath  was  coming  rapidly.  For  all  her  courage,  now 
that  the  moment  of  great  trial  had  arrived,  she  felt  very 
weak,  very  helpless. 

Bud  understood.  He  released  his  arm  from  her  nerv- 
ous clasp,  and  placed  it  gently  about  her  shoulders. 


2i 8  THE  FORFEIT 

"It's  Jeff  setting  the  gait,"  he  said.  "  I'd  say  he's 
crazy  to  get  home."  Then  he  added  as  though  to  him- 
self :  "  Guess  I'd  as  lief  seen  her  on  the  lead." 

But  Nan  gave  no  heed  to  his  words.  The  soul  of  the 
girl  was  in  her  eyes,  which  were  full  of  a  deep  terror  and 
yearning.  She  had  schooled  herself  for  this  meeting. 
How  she  had  schooled  herself !  And  now  it  seemed  be- 
yond her  powers  to  live  up  to  that  schooling. 

Never  for  a  moment  did  she  withdraw  her  gaze.  It 
was  held  fascinated,  perhaps  against  her  will.  They  came 
on,  riding  at  an  almost  racing  gallop,  and  finally  drew  up 
with  their  horses  fighting  against  the  restraining  bits. 

Bud  and  Nan  were  on  the  veranda.  Bud's  attitude 
was  one  of  almost  shy  reserve.  Nan  was  smiling  a  wel- 
come such  as  a  moment  before  would  have  seemed  quite 
impossible.  But  her  schooling  had  finally  triumphed  in 
the  crisis,  and  her  loyalty  to  her  generous  love  had  van- 
quished every  baser  feeling.  It  was  her  hands  which 
clasped  those  of  the  city  woman  before  she  sprang 
lightly  from  the  saddle.  It  was  her  steady  voice  spoke 
the  first  words  of  welcome. 

"  Say,  you  sure  must  be  tired  with  your  journey,"  she 
said.     "  Come  right  in  to — your  new  home." 

Bud  had  averted  his  eyes  the  moment  she  began  to 
speak.  He  could  not  witness  that  greeting.  His  cour- 
age was  unequal  to  it.  Instead  he  greeted  Jeff  in  his 
own  fashion,  as  though  nothing  unusual  had  occurred. 

"  Nan's  got  everything  through  for  you  same  as  you 
asked.  After  you've  eaten,  why,  I  guess  we'll  need  to 
make  some  talk.  Things  have  been  moving,  boy. 
Guess  we'll  need  to  get  busy." 

Nan  had  taken  Elvine  into  the  house,  and  one  of  the 


THE  HOME-COMING  219 

barn-hands  was  waiting  to  take  the  horses,  Jeff  leaped 
from  the  saddle.  Once  in  the  company  of  his  partner, 
with  all  the  atmosphere  of  the  world  to  which  he  be- 
longed about  him,  all  the  excitement  of  his  home-coming 
seemed  to  drop  from  him.  He  even  seemed  to  have  for- 
gotten that  this  was  the  final  great  event  of  his  new  life 
— the  bringing  of  his  bride  to  the  home  he  had  prepared 
for  her.  But  Nan's  estimate  of  him  was  right.  Jeff's  was 
a.  nature  that  could  not  be  changed,  even  by  his  marriage. 
His  love,  his  marriage,  Elvine  ;  these  things  were,  in 
reality,  merely  episodes.  Delightful  episodes.  Before 
all  things  his  work  claimed  him. 

"  You  mean  the — rustlers  ?  " 

The  two  men  were  facing  each  other  on  the  wide  ve- 
randa. The  trailing  wild  cucumber  vines  tempered  the 
blaze  of  sunlight  and  left  the  atmosphere  of  the  veranda 
cool.  Jeff  mopped  the  beads  of  perspiration  from  his 
forehead  under  his  wide  hat,  which  had  been  thrust  back 
on  his  head. 

"  That's  so."  Bud's  eyes  were  following  the  horses  as 
they  moved  away  in  the  wake  of  the  barn-hand. 

"  It's  pretty  bad  ?  " 

"  An'  gettin'  worse." 

Bud's  eyes  came  back  to  his  partner's  face.  They 
gazed  steadily  into  it. 

"  Can't  you  tell  me — now  ?  Evie's  in  there  with  Nan," 
he  added  significantly. 

Bud  shook  his  head. 

"  It's    a    big  yarn,   an'   needs  time.     But "    He 

paused,  searching  the  other's  face. 

"  Go  right  on." 

Jeff  read  through  the  pause.    He  waited,  his  lips  firmly  set. 


220  THE  FORFEIT 

Bud  cleared  his  throat 

"  I've  got  to  say  these  things  later  if  I  don't  say  'em 
now,  Jeff,  boy.  What  I  need  to  tell  '11  make  you  sore, 
an'  I  don't  guess  it's  the  best  sort  o'  welcome  making 
you  sore  at  your  home-comin'.  It's  the  worst  of  the  yarn 
anyway,  an'  I  kind  o'  feel  it's  best  spitting  out  the  worst 
right  away.  We're  up  against  a  gang,  a  slick  gang, 
organized  right,  same  as " 

He  hesitated.  But  the  younger  man  seemed  to  have 
no  similar  scruples. 

"The  gang  my  brother  ran." 

Bud  nodded. 

"  Some  of  'em  got  clear  away — that  time." 

"  And  you  figure  after  giving  things  time  to  get  for- 
gotten they've  gathered  up  a  crowd  of  toughs  and 
started  in  on  this  district?" 

"  It  seems  that  way." 

"  How  ?  " 

"  System,"  Bud  declared  sharply.  "  They're  takin*  a 
steady  toll  of  us,  an'  other  folks  in  the  district.  We 
trailed  'em  to  the  hills,  an' — lost  'em.  Say,  if  we  don't 
handle  'em  it  means " 

"  Something  like  ruin  for  the — Obar." 

Jeff's  manner  was  shorn  of  any  equivocation.  He 
spoke  with  almost  ruthless  force,  but  the  coldness  of  his 
tone  was  incomparable  with  the  steely  light  in  his  blue 
eyes. 

After  a  moment's  silence  he  turned  away.  He  stood 
looking  back  over  the  trail  he  had  just  left,  and  Bud  re- 
garded his  keen  profile,  waiting.  He  felt  there  was 
nothing  more  for  him  to  say  at  the  moment. 

At  last  the  other  turned  in  his  quick,  decided  fashion 


THE  HOME-COMING  221 

as  the  sound  of  the  women's  voices  reached  them  from 
within  the  parlor. 

"  Will  you  stop  and  eat  with  us  ?  "  he  asked  bluntly. 

Bud  shook  his  head. 

"  Not  now,  Jeff,  boy.     This  is  your  home-coming." 

"Yes.  Well,  I'll  get  around  your  place  to-morrow 
morning,  Bud.     We  can  make  big  talk  then." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  RANCHMAN 

THE  cool  night  breeze  died  out  under  the  increasing 
heat  of  the  early  sun.  Away  to  the  west  gossamer 
melted  upon  the  hillsides.  The  mountain  tops  stood 
out  under  their  eternal  snows,  above  the  lower  cloud 
belts.  The  summer  dews  on  thirsty  foliage  dried  up 
before  their  mission  was  completed.  But  the  wide 
prairie  world  stood  up  refreshed  to  withstand  the  day's 
heat  yet  to  come. 

Elvine  Masters  was  on  the  veranda  of  her  new  home 
gazing  after  the  receding  figure  of  her  husband,  who  had 
just  left  her  to  discuss  with  his  partner  those  vital  things 
which  they  had  touched  upon  at  the  moment  of  his  ar- 
rival yesterday. 

Everywhere  about  her  the  busy  life  of  the  ranch  was 
stirring.  Inside  the  house  the  maids  were  at  work  gar- 
nishing the  home  which  Nan  had  already  left  spotless. 
The  corrals,  which  stood  out  from  the  shelter  of  a  wood 
bluff,  were  claiming  attention  from  several  cow-hands. 
Sounds  reached  her  from  the  region  of  the  bunkhouse, 
away  to  the  right.  Then  at  the  barns,  and  other  ranch 
buildings,  the  voices  of  men  implied  the  work  that  was 
going  forward  in  their  region.  Away  in  the  distance 
isolated  horsemen  were  moving  about  in  the  apparently 
aimless  fashion  of  all  fence  riders,  while,  dotted  about, 


THE  RANCHMAN  223 

small  bands  of  cattle  proceeded  leisurely  with  the  end- 
less task  of  endeavoring  to  satisfy  the  craving  of  insati- 
able appetites. 

The  woman's  farewell  smile  had  left  her  eyes  cold  as 
she  surveyed  the  scene.  There  was  no  sign  of  the  ex- 
pressed delight  with  which  she  had  followed  Nan  at  her 
first  inspection  of  her  new  home.  The  recollection  of  it 
had  even  left  her.  Only  a  certain  sense  of  the  irony  of  it 
all  occupied  her.  That,  and  a  painful  wonder  as  to  when 
the  dread  under  which  she  labored  would  materialize  into 
the  shattering  of  every  hope  within  her  heart. 

Presently  a  "  hand  "  appeared  leading  a  saddle  horse. 
He  was  a  youngster,  a  "  barn-hand  "  who  only  worked 
around  cattle  in  times  of  pressure.  But  he  possessed 
all  the  air  of  a  cowpuncher,  which  he  ultimately  purposed 
to  become.  Elvine  watched  his  leisurely  approach,  and 
remembered  the  days  when  she  would  have  saddled  her 
own  pony. 

The  boy  displayed  no  sign  of  deference.  He  stood  be- 
fore her  chewing  a  straw  with  all  the  unconcern  of  his 
kind,  his  arm  linked  through  the  reins,  and  his  hands 
thrust  into  the  tops  of  his  trousers.  He  was  probably  not 
more  than  thirteen  years  of  age,  but  he  possessed  all  the 
independence  bred  in  the  calling  of  the  cattle  world. 

Elvine  broke  in  upon  his  meditative  curiosity  as  he 
surveyed  the  new  mistress  of  the  ranch. 

"What's  your  name,  boy?"  she  demanded,  in  a  tone 
of  authority. 

But  the  youngster  was  not  to  be  startled  out  of  his 
leisurely  regard.  An  amiable  smile  upon  his  unclean 
face  was  the  preliminary  result  of  the  question. 

"Pete,   ma'am,"   he   replied  after  a  moment     "An' 


224  THE  FORFEIT 

around  this  bum  lay-out  I  mostly  reckon  to  have  to  do 
the  stunts  other  folks  don't  notion." 

"Chore  boy  ?  " 

"  Wal,  mebbe  that's  how  I  figger  on  the  pay  roll.  I 
allow  I  ain't  alius  called  that  way." 

The  smile  had  left  his  eyes.  He  was  talking  with  the 
frank  candor  of  one  unused  to  being  taken  notice  of. 
There  was  a  deep  curiosity  in  the  look  with  which  he 
surveyed  her.  He  had  already  been  told  that  the  boss's 
wife  was  a  "swell  piece,"  and  his  youthful  mind  was 
eager  to  verify  the  opinion. 

11  How  do  they  call  you  then  ?  "  Elvine  took  the  reins 
and  threw  them  back  over  the  horse's  head,  and  examined 
the  cinching  of  the  saddle  with  the  touch  of  experience. 

"  Mostly  a  '  mule-headed  bussock,'  ma'am.  Some- 
times I  allow  they  change  it  to  *  slap-sided  hoboe,'  or 
somethin'  more  fancy.  But  that's  jest  the  ignorant  bums 
that  ain't  got  no  more  learnin'  than'll  let  'em  lose  their 
cents  reg'lar  at  \  draw.'  Ther's  others  who  don't  jest  use 
langwidge — only  their  feet.  Then  ther's  the  foreman, 
Lai  Hobhouse.  Mebbe  you  ain't  acquainted  yet — you 
bein'  new  around  these  parts.  He's  a  fine  bully  feller  till 
he  gits  mad0  Then  he's  mean,  ma'am.  Guess  he's  most 
as  mean  as  a  skunk.  He  needs  watching  if  you  want  to 
get  on  a  racket.  I  don't  guess  he  ever  laffed  in  his  life. 
Not  even  at  a  cirkis.  Yep.  He's  a  holy  terror  when  he's 
mad.  He  cowhided  me  t'other  day  so  I  ain't  sat  right 
in  a  week.  If  he  was  to  start  in  to  fix  you  that  way, 
why " 

"  I  don't  guess  he'll  cowhide  me,"  said  Elvine  quickly, 
as  she  swung  herself  into  the  saddle.  "  I'm  not  likely  to 
go  on  a  racket."     Then  she  leaned  forward  over  the  horn 


THE  RANCHMAN  225 

of  the  saddle,  and  smiled  down  into  the  unclean  face 
gawking  up  at  her.  "How'd  you  fancy  looking  after 
my  horses  and  saddle  and  things?  I  mean  just  look 
after  them  for  me,  and  nothing  else  ?  " 

The  boy's  eyes  lit. 

"  Bully  1 "  he  cried  eagerly.  "  That  way  I  wouldn't 
have  to  wash  lousy  clothes  for  the  bunkhouse.  Would 
I  ?  Then  they  wouldn't  be  able  to  fire  rocks  at  me  when 
I  sassed  'em.     Bully  ! " 

"  I'll  speak  to  Lai  Hobhouse  about  it." 

The  hope  died  out  of  the  boy's  eyes. 

"  You  won't  tell  him  wot  I  said,  ma'am  ? "  he  pleaded. 
"You  see,  I  was  jest  settin'  you  wise,  you  bein'  new 
around  here.  It  ain't  friendly  not  to  put  folks  wise,  is  it  ? 
He's  a  bully  feller  sure,  ma'am,  an'  I  ain't  got  a  word 
agin  him.  I  hain't  reely.  I  wouldn't  'a'  sed  a  word  if 
I'd  tho't " 

"  Don't  you  worry,  boy,"  Elvine  cried,  as  she  turned 
her  horse  about.  "  I  wouldn't  give  you  away.  I  wouldn't 
give  anybody  away — now.  You  see,  you  never  know 
how  things  of  that  sort  can  come  back  on  you." 

The  obvious  relief  in  the  boy's  dirty  face  was  more  than 
sufficient  to  bring  back  the  smile  to  Elvine's  eyes,  which, 
for  the  moment,  had  become  almost  painfully  serious. 
But  as  she  rode  away  leaving  the  boy  gawking  after  her 
she  quickly  returned  to  the  mood  which  had  only  been 
broken  by  the  interlude. 

It  was  an  interlude  not  easily  forgotten,  however.  It 
had  brought  home  to  her  a  fresh  revelation.  And  it  had 
come  in  the  boy's  final  appeal  not  to  give  him  away.  A 
fierce  sense  of  shame  surged  through  her  heart.  It  com- 
municated itself  to  her  eyes,  and  displayed  itself  further 


226  THE  FORFEIT 

in  the  deep  flush  on  her  beautiful  cheeks.  Y?t  i*s  reason 
must  have  remained  obscure  to  any  observer. 

She  rode  on  urging  her  pony  to  a  gait  which  set  him 
reaching  at  his  bit.  She  sat  her  saddle  in  a  fashion  which 
belonged  solely  to  the  prairie.  The  long  stirrups  and 
straight  limb.  The  lightness,  and  that  indescribable 
something  which  suggests  the  single  personality  of  horse 
and  rider. 

She  had  no  intention  of  returning  to  the  ranch  house 
until  the  noonday  meal,  and  meanwhile  it  was  her  pur* 
pose  to  explore  something  of  the  vast  domain  which  her 
husband  controlled. 

It  was  curious  that  her  purpose  should  lead  her  thus. 
For  somehow  all  sense  of  delight  in  these  possessions  had 
passed  from  her.  At  one  time  the  thought  of  his  thou- 
sands upon  thousands  of  acres  had  rilled  her  with  a  world 
of  desire,  and  pride  that  she  was  to  share  in  them.  •  But 
not  now.  With  every  furlong  she  covered  her  mood  de- 
pressed, and  her  sense  of  dread  increased.  She  felt  as 
though  she  were  surveying  from  a  great  distance  the  de- 
tails of  the  prize  she  had  coveted,  but  the  possession  oi 
which  was  denied  her.  This — this  was  the  wealth  her 
husband  had  bestowed  upon  her,  she  told  herself  bitterly, 
and  some  greater  power,  some  fatalistic  power,  purposed 
to  snatch  it  from  her  before  it  reached  her  hands. 

She  rode  straight  for  the  rising  land  of  the  foothills. 
It  almost  seemed  as  though  she  were  drawn  thither  by 
some  magnetic  influence.  She  had  formed  no  definite 
decision  to  travel  that  way.  Perhaps  it  was  the  result 
of  a  subconscious  realization  of  the  monotony  of  the 
rolling  tawny  grass-land  on  the  flat.  The  distant  view  of 
grazing  cattle  failed  to  break  it.    The  occasional  station 


THE  RANCHMAN  227 

shack  and  corral.  The  hills  rose  up  in  sharp  contrast 
and  great  variety.  There  were  the  woodland  bluffs. 
There  were  little  trickling  streams.  There  was  that  sense 
of  the  wild  beyond.  Perhaps  it  was  all  this.  Or  perhaps 
it  was  the  call  of  a  memory,  which  drew  her  beyond  her 
power  of  resistance. 

She  had  long  since  left  all  beaten  trails,  and  her  way 
took  her  over  the  wiry  growth  of  seeding  grass.  She 
had  arrived  at  the  bank  of  a  narrow  reed-grown  creek, 
which  meandered  placidly  in  the  deeps  of  a  trough 
between  two  waves  of  grass-land.  It  had  been  her  inten- 
tion to  cross  it,  but  the  marshy  nature  of  its  bed  deterred 
her.  So  she  rode  on  until  the  rising  ground  abruptly 
mounted  and  merged  into  the  two  great  hills  which  formed 
the  portals  through  which  the  stream  had  found  an  outlet 
from  its  mountain  prison  to  the  freedom  of  the  plains 
beyond. 

For  a  moment  she  paused  at  the  edge  of  a  woodland 
bluff  which  mounted  the  slope  to  her  right,  and  crowned 
the  hillock  with  a  thatch  of  dark  green  pine  foliage.  She 
gazed  up  with  questioning  eyes.  And  the  familiarity 
of  the  tattered  foliage  left  her  without  enthusiasm  for 
its  beauty.  Then  she  gazed  ahead  along  the  course 
of  the  stream.  And  it  was  obvious  that  she  was  in  some 
doubt  as  to  whether  she  should  still  proceed. 

After  a  moment  of  deep  consideration  she  lifted  her 
reins  and  her  horse  moved  forward.  Then,  suddenly, 
he  was  still  again,  held  with  a  tightened  rein.  The  soft 
but  rapid  plod  of  galloping  hoofs  came  out  of  the  distance. 
It  was  coming  toward  her  from  the  hills,  and  an  unac- 
countable but  overwhelming  desire  to  beat  a  hasty  retreat 
took  possession  of  her. 


228  THE  FORFEIT 

But  the  action  never  matured.  She  was  still  facing 
the  hills  when  a  horseman  emerged  from  a  narrow  path- 
way which  split  up  converging  bluffs.  He  was  riding  at 
a  great  pace,  and  was  heading  straight  for  the  bank  of  the 
river  where  she  had  paused. 

Elvine  remained  where  she  was.  She  made  no  effort 
either  to  proceed  or  retreat.  Somehow  curiosity  had 
caught  her  up  and  left  her  with  no  other  emotion.  She 
regarded  the  stranger  with  searching  eyes.  At  the  mo- 
ment his  features  were  too  indistinct  to  obtain  an  impres- 
sion. But  his  general  appearance  left  nothing  to  question. 
He  was  a  cow-hand  without  a  doubt.  His  open  shirt  and 
loose  waistcoat,  his  chapps,  and  the  plaited  rawhide  rope 
which  hung  from  the  horn  of  his  saddle.  These  were 
sufficient  evidence.  But  for  the  rest,  the  wide  flapping 
brim  of  his  hat  left  her  no  estimate  of  the  face  beneath  it. 

He  came  on.  He  even  swerved  his  horse  on  one  side 
as  though  to  pass  her  without  pausing.  Elvine's  pony 
stirred  restlessly  in  a  desire  to  join  the  stranger.  Then, 
in  a  flash,  the  whole  position  was  changed.  The  man 
reined  up  his  horse  with  a  heavy  "  yank "  which  almost 
flung  it  on  its  haunches,  and  a  pair  of  fierce  black  eyes 
were  staring  into  the  woman's  face  with  a  light  of  startled 
recognition  shining  in  their  depths. 

"  You  ! "  he  cried,  without  any  other  form  of  greeting. 
And  into  the  word  he  flung  a  world  of  harsh  meaning. 

Elvine's  reply  was  a  blank  stare,  which  had  in  it  not  a 
fraction  of  the  recognition  he  displayed.  Not  for  an 
instant  did  her  regard  waver.  It  was  full  of  a  haughty 
displeasure  at  the  nature  of  the  greeting.  Nor  did  she 
deign  reply. 

The   man   sat   for  a  moment  as  though  incredulous. 


THE  RANCHMAN  229 

Then  he  thrust  his  hat  back  from  his  head,  displaying 
the  brutal  ugliness  of  his  face.  Elvine  observed  the 
coarse  moustache,  the  lean  cheeks,  the  low  forehead  and 
vicious  eyes.  The  lips  were  hidden  behind  their  curtain 
of  hair. 

"Say,  kind  o'  fergotten — ain't  yer?"  he  demanded. 
Then  the  woman's  perfectly  fitting  riding  suit  seemed  to 
attract  his  attention.  "  Gee,"  he  exclaimed,  "  wrier'  you 
get  that  dandy  rig  ?  "  But  even  as  he  spoke  a  change  in 
his  expression  came  when  he  recognized  the  horse  Elvine 
was  riding.  Suddenly  he  raised  one  hand  and  smoothed 
the  tangle  of  moustache  with  a  downward  gesture.  It 
was  a  gesture  implying  complete  lack  of  comprehension. 
"Well,  I'm  darned!" 

"  You'll  be  more  than  that  if  you  don't  pass  on  to  your 
work,  whatever  that  may  be." 

The  coldness  of  the  woman's  tone  matched  the  light  in 
her  dark  eyes.  Every  ounce  of  her  courage  had  been 
summoned  to  meet  the  situation. 

But  the  man  displayed  not  the  slightest  regard  for  the 
threat.  The  incredulity  of  his  expression  changed.  And 
the  change  was  subtle.  It  was  perfectly  apparent,  how- 
ever, to  the  woman.  And  she  nerved  herself  for  what 
was  to  come.  An  evil  smile  grew  in  the  piercing  black 
eyes,  as  the  man  regarded  the  beauty  which,  with  him, 
was  a  long  stored  up  memory. 

"Say,  when  d'you  quit  Orrville  way?"  he  cried 
derisively.  "  Maybe  you  hadn't  a  heap  o'  use  for  it 
when  your  man,  Bob,  got  shot  up.  Maybe  you  didn't 
need  to  stop  around  after  you  got  your  hands  on  the 
dollars  I  guess  he  left  lying  around.  Say,  it  beats  hell 
meetin'  you  this  way." 


230  THE  FORFEIT 

But  Elvine  was  no  longer  laboring  under  the  shock  of 
the  encounter.  She  had  no  longer  any  thought  of  the 
remoteness  of  the  spot,  or  the  obviously  brutish  man  with 
whom  she  was  confronted.  She  set  about  dealing  with 
the  situation  with  a  desperate  courage.  "  I  don't  know 
if  you're  mad,  or  only — drunk,"  she  said,  with  icy  sharp- 
ness. "  But  you're  on  my  husband's  land,  and  I  suppose 
you  work  for  him.  What's  your  name?  I  need  to  know 
it  so  I  can  tell  him  of  your  insolence.  Jeffrey  Masters  is 
not  the  man  to  allow  his  wife  to  be  insulted  with  impunity 
by  one  of  his  cattlemen.  It  will  be  my  business  to  see  to 
it  that  he  is  told — everything.  You  were  riding  that 
way."  She  pointed  the  way  she  had  come.  "I  s'pose 
toward  the  ranch  house.     Let  me  pass  1 " 

She  moved  her  horse  as  though  to  proceed.  There 
was  no  sign  of  fear  in  her.  No  haste.  At  that  moment 
her  dignity  was  superb.  Every  word  she  had  spoken 
had  been  calculated,  and  the  sting  she  had  conveyed 
with  her  information  had  not  been  overdone.  She  looked 
for  its  effect,  which  came  with  a  dramatic  change  in  the 
man's  whole  demeanor.  His  evil  face  lost  its  smile,  and, 
in  a  moment,  he  had  bared  his  bristling  head.  But  even 
as  Elvine  beheld  these  things  she  understood  the  curious 
expression  which  he  seemed  powerless  to  banish  from  his 
ferretty  eyes. 

"You're  Mrs.  Masters,  ma'am?"  the  fellow  cried. 
M  Say,  ma'am,  I'm  just  kind  o'  knocked  all  of  a  mush.  I 
hadn't  a  notion.  I  truly  hadn't.  Guess  I  took  you  for  a 
leddy  I  kind  o'  remember  up  Orrville  way.  An'  the  like- 
ness is  jest  that  o'  two  beans.  I'm  beat,  ma'am,  beat 
sore.  I  wouldn't  have  offered  you  insult  for  a  farm.  I'm 
sorry.     I'd  heerd  the  boss's  wife  was  around,  but  I  didn't 


THE  RANCHMAN  231 

figger  I "     Then  he  replaced  his  hat,  and  made  as 

though  to  pass  on.  But  he  remained  where  he  was. 
M  Y'see,  I  was  ridin'  in  about  last  night.  We  lost  another 
bunch.  On'y  ten  cows  and  their  calves,  but  I  had  to 
make  a  report." 

"  Another  raid  ?  " 

In  a  moment  the  woman  caught  him  up.  And  her  at- 
titude had  taken  on  a  calculated  change. 

The  man  observed  her  interest,  and  took  prompt  ad- 
vantage of  it. 

"  Yep.  An'  things  are  lookin'  pretty  bad.  This  gang's 
jest  workin'  how,  an'  when,  an'  wher'  they  fancy.  If  the 
boss  'ud  on'y  listen  to  me  he'd  leave  no  stock  around  the 
outstations.  It's  devilish  luck,  ma'am,  that's  what  it  is — 
devilish." 

Elvine  remained  lost  in  thought,  and  the  man's  narrow 
eyes  never  left  the  profile  she  presented  to  him.  When 
she  turned  to  him  again,  however,  his  whole  attitude  was 
one  of  bland  humility. 

"  You  can  ride  back  to  your  station,"  she  declared,  with 
perfect  authority.  "  I'll  convey  your  report.  What's  your 
name  ?    You  didn't  give  it  me." 

"  Sikkem.  Sikkem  Bruce.  I'm  out  at  Spruce  Cross- 
ing, back  ther'  in  the  hills.  It's  jest  a  piece.  Mebbe 
three  miles,  wher'  this  stream  makes  a  joining  with  the 
Gophir  Creek.     Say " 

"  Well  ?  "  Elvine  inquired  as  he  paused. 

"You  ain't  makin'  no  complaint  to  the  boss,  ma'am? 
It  was  jest  a  darn  fool  mistake  of  mine.  It  surely  was. 
I  ken  see  it  was.  I  can't  figger  how  I  mistook  you  fer 
the  lady  I  was  thinkin'  of.  Y'see,  she  was  no  account 
anyway.     She  was  jest  one  o'  them  vampire  sorts  who'd 


232  THE  FORFEIT 

sell  her  soul  fer  a  price,  yep,  and  sell  any  man's  life  that 
way,  too.  Y'see,  that's  how  I  come  to  know  her.  She 
handed  over  a  bunch  o'  guys,  scallawags,  sure,  who 
didn't  need  nothin'  better,  fer  the  price  o'  ten  thousand 
dollars.  She  corralled  the  information,  an'  drove  her 
weak-livered  man  to  do  the  lousy  work.  I  tell  you, 
ma'am,  a  woman  who  gits  that  low  is  pretty  mean.  You 
was  sure  right  to  figger  on  an  insult  when  I  guessed  you 
was  that  '  piece.'  But  I  didn't  mean  it  that  way,  I  sure 
didn't." 

The  marble  coldness  of  Elvine's  face  as  she  listened  to 
the  man's  words  gave  no  indication  of  any  feeling  behind 
it.     At  the  end,  however,  she  forced  a  smile  to  her  lips. 

"  You  can  forget  it,"  she  said.  Then  she  added  delib- 
erately :  "  I  shall  not  inform  my  husband." 

"  Thank  you,  ma'am.  Then  I  guess  I'll  get  right  on 
back — if  you'll  carry  in  the  report.  Y'see,  we're  huntin' 
the  trail.  That-a-way  I'll  be  able  to  join  up  with  the 
boys." 

"Yes." 

The  man  hesitated  as  though  waiting  for  her  to  depart 
first,  but  as  she  made  no  movement,  and  offered  no 
further  word,  he  was  forced  to  the  initiative.  With  an 
astonishing  deference,  which,  perhaps,  was  even  too  elab- 
orate, he  wheeled  his  horse  about  and  rode  off. 

Elvine  watched  him  until  he  was  swallowed  up  by  the 
narrow  pathway  between  the  bluffs,  then  she  turned  back 
and  rode  slowly  homeward. 

But  the  face  which  was  now  turned  down  the  river  was 
no  longer  the  face  which  had  confronted  Sikkem  Bruce. 
It  was  ghastly.     It  was  the  face  of  a  soul-tortured  woman. 

"  She  was  jest  one  of  them  vampire  sorts  who'd  sell 


THE  RANCHMAN  233 

her  soul  fer  a  price,  yes,  an'  sell  any  man's  life  that  way, 
too." 

The  words,  even  the  tones  of  the  man's  voice  dinned 
in  her  brain,  and  she  knew  that  the  legions  of  Fate  had 
appeared  upon  a  fresh  horizon. 


U 


CHAPTER  XVII 
THE  CALL  TO  ORRVILLE 

The  windows  were  wide  open.  Voices  from  within 
the  parlor  reached  Nan.  She  was  waiting  on  the 
veranda.  Waiting  for  the  long  council  of  men-folk  to 
reach  its  conclusion.  She  had  elected  to  remain  outside. 
She  knew  that  the  future  well-being  of  the  Obar  Ranch 
was  being  considered  by  men  whose  sole  regard  that 
well-being  was.  And  somehow  the  woman  in  her  de- 
manded that  in  all  the  vital  affairs  of  life  it  was  the  will 
of  the  men-folk  which  should  rule. 

But  her  self-denial  was  strained  to  breaking  as  the  in- 
terminable minutes  grew,  and,  at  last,  she  abandoned  her 
principles  to  her  woman's  curiosity,  and  slipped  into  the 
room.  She  knew  well  enough  that  none  of  those  present 
would  resent  her  intrusion.  And,  anyway,  it  was  hard  to 
stand  by  when  her  whole  interest  was  absorbed  in  the  de- 
cisions to  be  arrived  at. 

She  passed  round  the  room  and  took  up  a  position  on 
the  arm  of  her  father's  chair.  No  one  spoke  to  her. 
Scarcely  an  eye  turned  in  her  direction.  And  something 
of  the  impressiveness  of  it  all  caught  the  girl's  imagina- 
tion. 

There  was  the  dear  familiar  room  with  its  simple  fur- 
nishing, and  its  poignant  associations.  It  was  part  of  her 
life.     It  was  certainly  part  of  her  father's  and  Jeff's.    Then 


THE  CALL  TO  ORRVILLE  235 

there  was  the  warm  sunlight  pouring  in  through  the  open 
windows.  It  lit  the  tanned,  strong  faces  of  the  men,  and 
searched  the  weak  spots  in  their  toil-worn  equipment. 
There  was  not  a  weak  face  among  them.  And  Nan  felt 
comfort  in  the  thought  that  theirs  was  the  decision. 

The  face  of  Jay  Pendick,  their  own  headman,  with  its 
small,  alert  dark  eyes  reflected  the  intentness  of  his  mind. 
His  capacity  had  been  tried  over  and  over  again  in  his 
long  years  of  service.  Then  Lai  Hobhouse,  the  best- 
hated  man  on  the  countryside  for  his  ruthless  genius  in 
obtaining  work  from  those  under  him,  and  the  driving 
force  of  Jeff's  side  of  the  partnership.  Her  father,  wise 
and  silent,  except  for  his  heavy  breathing.  And  lastly  Jeff, 
full  of  a  hard  determination  to  beat  the  game  in  which  he 
was  engaged. 

So  keen  was  the  interest  of  the  gathering  that  Bud 
alone  was  smoking.  But  then  Bud  regarded  tobacco  as 
a  necessary  adjunct  to  soundness  of  judgment. 

He  slipped  an  arm  about  Nan's  waist  as  she  took  up 
her  position  at  his  side. 

Jeff  was  seated  at  the  centre  table,  a  position  strongly 
reminiscent  to  the  girl  of  a  smaller  gathering  some  four 
years  back,  when  he  had  occupied  the  position  of  leader- 
ship in  the  enterprise  which  had  had  such  successful  re- 
sults for  them  all.  Jay  was  poised  upon  the  edge  of  a 
small  chair  which  suggested  immediate  peril  under  his 
forceful  and  scarcely  elegant  methods  when  discussing 
the  doings  of  rustlers,  and  imparting  his  opinion  upon  all 
and  sundry  of  their  class.  Lai  disdained  all  parlor  atti- 
tude. He  was  squatting  against  the  edge  of  the  table 
without  the  least  consideration  for  its  somewhat  trifling 
powers  of  endurance.     But  Jeff  was  talking,  and  Nan's 


236  THE  FORFEIT 

whole  attention  was  swiftly  caught  and  held  by  the  man 
whose  words  and  actions  were  at  all  times  irresistible  to 
her. 

He  was  talking  slowly  and  clearly  with  that  shadow 
of  a  drawl  which  was  his  way  when  his  decision  was 
arrived  at. 

"  Say,  it's  as  clear  as  don't  matter  we're  up  against  an 
experienced  and  organized  proposition,"  he  said.  "  I 
don't  guess  this  is  any  kind  of  scallawag  outfit  of  toughs 
which  just  get  around  and  duff  a  bunch,  and  hit  the  trail 
for  safety  till  the  froth  they've  raised  dies  down  again. 
It's  Orrville  repeating  itself."  He  paused  thoughtfully. 
His  eyes  were  regarding  the  table  before  him.  When  he 
raised  them  again  they  were  full  of  a  peculiar  light  which 
shone  in  Bud's  direction.  "  Ther's  features  in  the  game 
carry  a  parallel  to  that  play,  and  I  guess  they  point  the 
fact  that  the  fellers  of  that  gang  who  got  away  at  their 
round-up  have  got  around  this  region  now,  and  figure  to 
carry  on  the  same  play  right  here.  You'll  get  that,  Bud 
— sure."  Bud  nodded.  "  Well,  it's  up  to  us,"  Jeff  went 
on,  as  though  the  other's  agreement  had  left  his  course  of 
action  clear.  "  Maybe  ther's  States  Marshalls  around,  and 
a  pretty  bunch  of  deputies  lying  behind  Sheriff  Hank 
Killick,  but  there  never  was  an  official  gang  these  folk 
couldn't  beat  a  mile.  Guess  they're  not  duffing  the  pri- 
vate property  of  Hank  Killick,  or  any  of  his  boys.  We 
best  get  busy  our  own  way,  which  is  the  way  Dug  McFar- 
lane  took  nearly  five  years  to  dream  out." 

His  blue  eyes  had  grown  colder  and  harder  while  he 
talked.  There  was  a  bite,  too,  in  the  manner  in  which 
he  referred  to  the  doings  in  Orrville  of  four  years  ago. 
There  was  a  curious  curl  to  his  firm  lips,  which,  to  Nan's 


THE  CALL  TO  ORRVILLE  237 

mind,  suggested  a  painful  smile.  And  she  disliked  it. 
She  disliked  his  whole  manner,  which,  just  now,  was  none 
of  the  Jeff  she  had  always  known.  Bud  read  deepen 
And  that  which  he  read  carried  him  back  to  an  unfor- 
gettable scene  in  the  Cathills,  when  a  twin  stood  gazing 
upon  its  other  half,  hanging  by  the  neck  dead  under  the 
shade  of  a  wide-spreading  tree. 

"It's  up  to  us  to  set  up  a  reward,  Bud,"  Jeff  went  on,  in 
the  same  passionless  fashion.  "  A  big  reward.  We've  got 
to  make  it  so  some  amateur  Judas  is  ready  to  sell  his  friends. 
It'll  cost  us  a  piece,  but  it's  the  way  to  fix  things.  And 
anyway  it's  going  to  be  worth  it,  sure.  I  allow  we'll  need 
to  hand  out  the  story  of  reward  good.  It's  got  to  reach 
this  gang  itself.  An'  if  I  guess  right,  and  there's  toughs 
from  Orrville  way  running  this  lay-out,  why,  they  aren't 
li'ble  to  have  forgotten  what  happened  that  time.  We'll 
break  the  gang,  or — we'll  get  'em." 

There  was  something  unrelenting,  and  even  vicious,  in 
the  manner  in  which  he  gripped  the  pencil  in  his  hand 
and  dug  the  pointed  lead  and  crushed  it  against  the  sur- 
face of  the  table.  Nan  drew  a  deep  sigh  of  relief  as  he 
finished  speaking,  and  turned  gladly  as  her  father  re- 
moved his  pipe  and  cleared  his  throat. 

"  An'  the  reward.     How  much  ?  "  he  questioned. 

The  answer  flashed  back  at  him  like  the  slash  of  a 
knife. 

"  Ten  thousand  dollars  ! " 

In  that  answer  Jeff's  voice  was  unrecognizable  to  Nan. 
His  whole  expression,  too,  seemed  to  have  undergone 
some  subtle  change.  She  sat  groping  for  the  meaning 
of  it  all,  and  somehow  regretted  she  had  not  remained 
out  on  the  veranda. 


238  THE  FORFEIT 

Bud  inclined  his  head  and  replaced  his  pipe  in  the 
corner  of  his  mouth. 

"  It  goes/'  he  declared.  Then  he  lumbered  out  of  his 
chair.  "That  all?"  he  inquired.  And  by  his  manner 
and  tone  Nan  knew  that  he,  too,  had  been  affected  by 
the  things  which  had  troubled  her. 

"  Not  quite." 

Jeff  turned  on  his  own  foreman.  He  had  lost  none  of 
his  intensity. 

"  That  reward  goes,"  he  said  sharply.  "  Get  the  exact 
amount.  Ten  thousand  dollars.  Not  a  cent  more  or  less. 
Hand  it  out  everywhere.  Meanwhile  I'll  see  to  it  the 
notices  are  printed,  and  we'll  have  'em  set  up  wherever 
the  eyes  of  these  scum  are  likely  to  get  peeking  around." 
Then  he  emitted  a  sound  like  a  laugh,  but  there  was  no 
mirth  in  his  eyes.  Nor  in  his  manner.  "We'll  locate 
the  best  trees  for  a  hanging,  and  we'll  set  'em  up 
there." 

Nan  moved  over  to  an  open  window  as  the  two  head- 
men took  their  departure.  Bud  had  taken  up  a  position 
against  the  cold  iron  stove.  Jeff  alone  retained  his  seat 
during  the  few  silent  moments  which  followed. 

With  the  departure  of  the  men,  however,  he  looked  up 
from  a  letter  he  had  withdrawn  from  his  pocket. 

44  Say,  Bud,"  he  said  without  emotion,  "  guess  the 
Presidency  of  the  Western  Union's  going  to  claim  me 
right  away.     I'll  need  to  make  Orrville  right  off." 

"Orrville?"     Bud's  eyes  were  sharply  scrutinizing. 

"  Sure."     Jeff's  indifference  was  obviously  assumed. 

Nan's  questioning  eyes  passed  uncertainly  from  Jeff  to 
her  father.  There  was  something  between  these  two  she 
did  not  understand.     Orrville  ?    It  was  when  he  had  been 


THE  CALL  TO  ORRVILLE  239 

speaking  of  Orrville  all  that  intensity  of  bitterness  had 
been  so  apparent  in  Jeff.  She  received  no  enlightenment, 
however. 

"  What's  the  play  at— Orrville  ?  " 

Bud's  question  had  a  suggestion  of  anxiety  in  it. 

Jeff  rose  from  his  chair.  He  passed  one  hand  wearily 
across  his  brow  and  smoothed  back  his  lank  fair  hair. 

"  Oh,  it's  just  arbitration,"  he  said.  "  The  parties  agree 
to  take  my  decision  in  some  grazing  rights  instead  of 
handing  good  dollars  over  to  the  law.  It's  Dug.  Dug 
McFarlane,  and  a  feller  called  Peters.  Peters  riggers  he's 
got  rights  on  Dug's  land,  and — well,  Dug  just  guesses  he 
hasn't." 

"When  are  you  starting?"  Nan  inquired,  from  her 
place  at  the  window. 

11  I'll  need  to  get  off  early  to-morrow."  Jeff's  eyes 
were  on  the  girl.  The  change  in  them  had  become 
pronounced.  Warmth  had  replaced  frigidity,  and  the 
smile  in  them  was  real  now.  "  It's  tough  on  top  of  my 
home-coming,  eh,  Nan?  Maybe  Evie'll  feel  lonesome  too 
— when  I  tell  her.  Still,  these  things  are  part  of  the  game, 
and  I  can't  weaken  on  'em.  It's  these  toughs  around  I'm 
worrying  '11  scare  her.  I  was  kind  of  wondering  if 
you'd " 

"  You  don't  need  to  worry  a  thing."  Nan's  smile  was 
full  of  a  staunch  reassurance.  And  her  readiness  came 
with  a  spontaneity  which  had  nothing  to  do  with  Jeff's 
wife.  It  was  the  result  of  her  delight  and  pride  in  this 
man  himself  who  was  called  upon,  and  looked  to,  for  lead- 
ership, in  this  little  world  of  theirs. 

«  You'll " 

H  I'll  handle  things  here  for  you,  Jeff."     Nan  gave  him 


240  THE  FORFEIT 

no  chance  to  make  his  appeal.  "  Elvine  shall  be  as  safe  as 
we  can  make  her  She  can  come  right  over  here  till  you 
get  back,  or  I'll  sleep  at  your  place.  It  shall  be  just  as 
she  feels.  She  shan't  be  lonesome,  and  I  guess  my  Daddy 
an*  me  we're  equal  to  any  crowd  of  rustlers." 

The  genuineness,  even  enthusiasm  of  the  girl  was  quite 
transparent.  Nor  was  the  man  insensible  to  it.  For  all 
his  preoccupation  he  realized  something  of  his  debt  to 
these  people,  to  Nan.  It  was  a  debt  he  had  never  at- 
tempted to  pay,  and  now  its  rapid  mounting  made  even 
ultimate  payment  seem  doubtful. 

"  You're  pretty  good  to  me,  Nan,"  was  all  he  trusted 
himself  to  say. 

Nan  shook  her  head  in  smiling  denial. 

"  Women  need  to  help  each  other  in — these  parts." 

But  Jeff  did  not  accept  her  excuse. 

"  Maybe  that's  so,"  he  said  thoughtfully.  "  But  it  don't 
alter  things  a  little  bit.     I'd  just  like  to  feel  I  deserved  it. 

But  I  don't  and  can't  feel  that  way.     Someday " 

He  laughed  and  made  a  helpless  gesture.  "  But  why 
talk?  It's  too  easy,  and  it's  mighty  cheap  anyway. 
I " 

But  Nan  was  pointing  out  of  the  window.  She  wel- 
comed a  sudden  diversion. 

"  It's  Elvine  coming  right  along  over."  Then,  as  Jeff 
craned  forward  :  "  Say,  she's  a  dandy  horsewoman.  Get 
a  look  at  her.  Gracious,  she  might  have  been  born  in 
the  saddle." 

But  Jeff  had  not  waited.  He  was  out  on  the  veranda 
to  greet  his  wife  as  she  came.  And  just  for  one  instant 
Nan  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  light  in  his  eyes  which  the 
sight  of  Elvine  had  conjured.     All  the  coldness  she  had 


THE  CALL  TO  ORRVILLE  241 

witnessed  that  morning,  all  the  merciless  purpose,  even 
the  simple  friendliness  he  had  displayed  toward  her. 
These  were  gone.  Their  place  had  been  taken  by  a  light 
of  passionate  regard  for  the  woman  who  had  yielded  her- 
self to  him.  For  a  moment  it  seemed  as  if  her  own  emo- 
tions must  stifle  her.  But  the  next  she  was  within  the 
room  again,  her  eyes  merrily  dancing,  talking  to  the 
parent  she  adored. 

"  Say,  you  Daddy  of  mine,"  she  said,  almost  boister- 
ously, "haven't  you  work  to  be  done,  the  same  as  I 
have  ?  Shame  on  you  for  dallying.  Shame  on  us  both. 
Come  right  along,  sir.  Come  right  along  at  once." 
Then,  as  he  moved  toward  the  window,  "  No,  no,  you 
dear  blundering  Daddy,  not  that  way  !  That's  reserved. 
The  back  door  for  us,  sure.     Come  along." 

And  the  great  Bud  permitted  himself  to  be  hustled  from 
the  room  through  the  kitchen  way. 

Nan's  effort  was  only  partially  successful.  In  a  few 
moments  the  fugitives  were  urgently  recalled  to  hear  the 
news  of  the  disaster  at  Spruce  Crossing,  which  Elvine  had 
brought  with  her.  And  during  the  discussion  which  fol- 
lowed Nan  was  forced  to  stand  by  while  the  handsome 
woman  who  had  supplanted  her  occupied  the  centre  of 
attention. 

Somehow  the  news  which  held  the  others,  drawing  forth 
hot  condemnation  from  Bud,  and  the  bitter  comment  of 
Jeff,  for  once  left  Nan  cold.  Somehow  it  seemed  so  small 
a  thing  compared  with  that  other  disaster  which  was  al- 
ways with  her.  Her  whole  attention  was  held  by  Jeff  and 
his  wife.  Not  a  detail  of  expression  or  emotion,  as  the 
swift  words  flowed  between  them,  was  lost  upon  her. 
And  the  exquisite  pain  of  it  all  was  excruciating. 


242  THE  FORFEIT 

The  great  love  of  the  man  was  so  apparent.  There 
was  a  moment,  even,  just  as  Jeff  and  Elvine  were  about 
to  take  their  departure,  when  Nan  could  have  almost 
cried  out.  It  had  followed  upon  an  expression  of 
Elvine's  dislike  and  fear  of  the  man  who  conveyed  the 
news  to  her. 

Jeff  took  up  her  complaint  in  no  half-hearted  fashion, 
and,  somehow,  the  injustice  of  his  attitude  and  his  obvious 
thought  for  his  wife  alone  brought  the  girl's  hot  resent- 
ment very  near  the  surface. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  " He's  a  tough,  sure.  I've  kept  him 
on  because  he's  one  of  the  brightest  cow-hands  east  of  the 
mountains.  But  you're  right,  Evie.  And  I  can't  stand 
for  you  being  scared  by  the  '  hands '  on  my  ranch.  I'll 
have  to  get  rid  of  him."  Then,  as  he  sat  in  the  saddle  with 
Elvine  on  her  pony  at  his  side,  he  had  taken  in  Nan  and 
her  father  in  a  smiling,  comprehensive  glance.  "  I  guess 
Evie's  some  sport  acting  the  way  she's  done,"  he  declared 
with  a  lover's  pride.  "  I  allow  we  owe  her  a  heap  of  thanks, 
eh,  Bud?" 

Bud  nodded. 

"  We're  mighty  grateful,  ma'am,"  he  declared,  heartily, 
in  his  formal  way.  "Guess  we  all  thank  you,  sure." 
Then  he  turned  to  Jeff  more  directly.  "  I'll  get  busy  right 
away.  That'll  leave  you  free  to  get  right  on  doping  out 
that  reward  notice  this  afternoon,  an'  generally  fixing 
things  before  you  make  the  trail  to-morrow  morning." 

Then  they  had  taken  their  departure.  And  with  their 
going  Nan  hastily  returned  to  the  parlor. 

Bud  followed  her  almost  on  the  instant.  He  had 
moved  with  incredible  swiftness,  which  is  often  the  way 
of  heavy  men  under  stress  of  feeling.     Already  the  tears 


THE  CALL  TO  ORRVILLE  243 

were   gathering  in  the  girl's  eyes  when  his  words  fell 
upon  her  ears. 

"Say,  little  gal,"  he  said,  with  a  deep  note  of  sym- 
pathy in  his  rumbling  tones,  M  we're  bein'  hit  up  pretty 
bad  since  Jeff  bro't  her  back  home.  Maybe  we're 
feelin'  'bout  as  foolish  as  we're  lookin'.  But  we're  gohV 
to  beat  the  game — sure,  eh  ?  We're  goin'  to  beat  it  be- 
cause we're  built  that  way,  an' — we  got  the  grit  to  do  it." 


The  horses  were  walking  leisurely  over  the  summer 
grass.  The  house  was  less  than  two  miles  distant.  There 
was  no  immediate  hurry.  Besides,  Elvine  was  reading 
the  letter  which  Jeff  had  handed  her  in  reply  to  her 
inquiry  as  to  the  contemplated  journey  which  Bud  had 
mentioned. 

Jeff  was  observing  her  closely  as  she  read.  There 
were  no  doubts  in  his  mind.  He  was  not  even  seeking 
the  effect  of  the  letter.  He  was  dwelling  with  a  lover's 
delight  upon  the  picture  she  made. 

Nor  was  his  approval  extravagant.  Any  one  must 
have  admitted  the  justice  of  it.  Nan  had  admitted  it 
when  she  beheld  her  in  a  prairie  saddle,  on  a  prairie 
pony,  with  only  the  wide  wealth  of  grass-land  for  her  set- 
ting. Elvine  in  the  saddle  suggested  a  single  identity 
between  horse  and  rider.  Her  riding  suit  was  expen- 
sively simple,  and  cut  as  only  such  suits  can  be  cut. 
The  figure  beneath  it  was  displayed  to  its  fullest  advan- 
tage. There  was  no  studied  pose.  Just  the  perfection 
of  horsemanship  which  demands  an  intimate  freedom  at 
all  times.  Then  her  dark  head  under  her  carefully  ad- 
justed prairie  hat.     The  shining  masses  of  hair,  obvious 


244  THE  FORFEIT 

in  their  wealth  even  under  careful  dressing.  The  softly 
healthy  cheeks,  and  the  perfect  profile  as  she  pored  over 
the  letter  in  her  hand. 

Presently  Elvine  looked  up.  She  did  not  turn  at  once 
to  the  husband  at  her  side.  Her  gaze  was  directed  ahead. 
It  ignored  the  scene  of  undulating  plain,  and  the  distant 
ramparts  of  wooded  hills.  It  saw  nothing  but  the  images 
in  her  own  brain,  and  the  conjured  thoughts  of  a  troubled 
heart  and  conscience. 

"  You  see  it's  important,"  Jeff  said,  with  a  feeling  that 
the  news  in  the  letter  had  caused  disappointment. 

"  I  s'pose  it  is." 

There  was  a  curious  lack  of  interest  in  the  woman's 
manner.     Her  tone  was  listless. 

"  I'm  afraid  I'll  have  to  go."  The  man  felt  he  was 
apologizing,  and  it  seemed  absurd  that  apology  should 
be  required.  Then  he  reminded  her.  "You  see,  these 
things  come  with  my  work  as  President.  It's  pretty 
good  if  you  think.  Guess  I'll  only  be  from  home  one 
night." 

"  You  must  go — I  s'pose  ?  " 

The  man's  eyes  widened. 

"  Sure." 

"  But  it  seems  unfair  you  should  be  put  to  all  this  for — 
nothing." 

Jeff  shook  his  head. 

"  Why,  I  don't  guess  it's  any  worry.  Besides,  it's  an 
honor.  You  see,  Evie,  I'm  out  all  I  know  to  set  up  a 
big  position  for  you.  And  it's  these  calls  as  President  of 
the  Western  Union  are  going  to  fix  things  the  way  I'd 
have  them." 

His  eyes  had  somehow  become  serious,    -There  was 


THE  CALL  TO  ORRVILLE  245 

even  a  lack  of  his  recent  warmth  in  them.  He  had  not 
expected  any  protest  from  his  wife.  A  shade  of  disap- 
pointment at  his  going  perhaps.     But  that  was  all. 

"  You're  at  the  call  of  anybody  around  to  settle  dis- 
putes?" ; 

"  Only  where  the  interests  of  cattle-raising  are  affected." 

Elvine  handed  him  back  the  letter.  She  did  not  turn 
to  him.  A  curious  set  to  her  lips  warned  Jeff  that  in 
some  way  his  contemplated  journey  was  adversely  affect- 
ing her.  Nor  was  it  merely  the  disappointment  he  had 
been  prepared  for.  He  felt  there  was  need  to  say  more, 
though  the  need  of  it  was  obscure.  It  had  never  been 
his  way  to  appeal,  but  he  resigned  himself  to  the  reflec- 
tion that  his  life  had  been  entirely  changed  by  his  mar- 
riage. He  was  no  longer  responsible  only  to  himself. 
With  an  effort  he  flung  aside  an  inclination  to  resentment. 

"  Say,  Evie,"  he  cried,  "  it's  a  bit  tough  on  you  having 
to  leave  you  even  for  a  day  just  as  we've  got  back  to 
home.  It's  that  way  with  me,  too.  I  just  don't  fancy 
going  a  small  bit.  But  I  daren't  refuse  Dug  McFarlane. 
He's  one  of  the  biggest  men  around,  and  I'll  need  all  the 
friends  I  can  round  up.  There's  another  thing.  I've  got 
it  back  of  my  mind  later  on  to  form  a  Trust  amongst  the 
growers,  and  Dug's  a  most  important  concern  in  such  a 
scheme.  I'd  be  crazy  to  refuse.  Why,  I  just  couldn't 
refuse  anyway.  You're  going  to  help  me,  dear,  aren't 
you  ?  I've  talked  to  Bud  and  Nan,  and  fixed  things  so 
you  won't  be  lonesome.  Nan's  promised  to  sleep  in  the 
house  with  you,  so  you  shan't  feel  that  way.  Or  you 
could  go  over  to  her.     It's  just  one  night,  that's  all." 

It  may  have  been  his  obvious  sincerity,  it  may  have 
been  that  the  woman's  objections  were  really  the  result 


246  THE  FORFEIT 

of  disappointment  only.  At  any  rate  a  distinct  change 
came  over  her,  and  she  turned  to  him  with  a  smile. 

"  I'm  just  too  selfish,  Jeff,"  she  cried.  "  But — but 
it  did  seem  hard — at  first.  Go?  Of  course  you  must 
go.  And  you're  not  to  worry  about  me.  Nor  is  Nan. 
I  wouldn't  have  her  come  over  for  me  for  anything, 
and  I'm  not  going  to  sleep  out  of  my  home,  either. 
You  needn't  be  scared  I'll  be  lonesome.  I've  got  all 
this  beautiful  world  around  me,  and  all  your  interests. 
And  rustlers?  Why,  I'm  not  scared  of  the  worst  rustlers 
living." 

A  delighted  sense  of  gratitude  replaced  Jeff's  every 
other  feeling. 

"Say,"  he  cried,  with  a  sudden  vehemence,  "you've 
good  grit,  Evie.  You're  a  bully  soul.  You're  the  sort 
would  set  a  man  crazy  to  corral  the  world,  and  set  it  at 
your  feet.  I'll  get  right  back  quick.  I  won't  wait  an 
hour  more  than  I  need." 

Elvine's  decision  had  been  forced  upon  her,  but  once 
having  taken  it  she  threw  something  more  into  her  words 
than  the  mere  encouragement  that  seemed  necessary. 

"  No,"  she  declared,  her  eyes  shining.  "  You're  not 
even  to  hurry  back.  Get  right  through  with  your  work, 
or  any  schemes  you  have  to  arrange  while  you're  there, 
before  you  think  of  me."  Then  her  voice  softened  to  a 
great  tenderness.  "  I  want  you  to  win  through  in  every- 
thing you  undertake,  Jeff.  I  don't  care  now  for  a  thing 
else  in  the  world.  You  do  believe  that,  don't  you?  Oh, 
Jeff,  I  want  you  always  to  believe  that.  Whatever  may 
come  in  our  life  together,  I  want  you  always  to  know  I 
love  you  better — better  than  the  whole  world,  and  your 
— your  happiness  is  just  my  happiness.     Without  your 


THE  CALL  TO  ORRVILLE  247 

happiness  I  can  never  be  happy.  It  was  selfishness  made 
me  demur  at  first.  You  believe  that,  don't  you  ?  I  have 
always  been  very,  very  selfish.  It  was  nothing  else. 
You  don't  think  there  was  anything  else,  do  you  ?  I  sort 
of  feel  I'd  always  have  you  in  my  sight,  near  me.  I'm 
happy  then,  because  I  feel  nothing  can  ever  come  be- 
tween us.  When  you're  away,  I  don't  know,  but  it  sort 
of  seems  as  if  shadows  grow  up  threatening  me.  I  felt 
that  way  this  morning.  I  felt  that  way  when  I  read  your 
letter.  But  these  things  just  shan't  be.  I  love  you  with 
all  that's  in  me,  and — you  love  me.  Nothing  shall  ever 
come  between  us.  Say  that's  so,  Jeff.  Nothing.  Noth- 
ing." 

The  man  responded  with  all  a  lover's  impetuosity.  He 
gave  her  to  the  full  that  reassurance  of  which  she  stood 
in  need.  But  for  all  his  sincerity  it  was  as  useless  as  if  it 
had  been  left  unspoken. 

The  letter  from  Dug  McFarlane  at  Orrville,  the  recog- 
nition of  her  by  the  man  Sikkem  Bruce,  had  warned 
Elvine  that  the  sands  of  her  time  of  happiness  were  run- 
ning out.  She  felt  she  knew  that  a  gape  of  despair  was 
already  yawning  at  her  feet. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

DUG  MCFARLANE 

The  aroma  of  cigars  blended  delightfully  with  the 
fragrant  evening  air.  Through  the  cool  green  lacing  of 
the  creeper  the  sun  poured  the  last  of  its  golden  rays 
into  the  wide  stoop.  The  mists  were  already  gathering 
upon  the  lower  slopes  of  the  hills,  and  a  deep  purpling 
seemed  to  be  steadily  embracing  the  whole  of  the  great 
mountain  range. 

Two  men  were  lounging  comfortably  in  wide  wicker 
chairs  on  the  veranda.  They  were  resting  bodies  that 
rarely  knew  fatigue  in  the  strenuous  life  that  was  theirs. 
But  then  the  day  was  closing,  and  one  of  them  had  come 
a  long  saddle  journey.  Whisky  stood  on  a  table  at  the 
elbow  of  Dug  McFarlane.  Jeffrey  Masters  had  coffee 
near  by. 

Outside  the  veranda  a  smudge  fire  in  a  bucket  was 
doing  battle  with  attacking  mosquitoes,  while  its  thin 
spiral  of  smoke  served  as  a  screen  upon  the  still  air  to 
shut  out  the  view  of  the  disheveled  township  of  Orrville. 

Dug  McFarlane,  opulent,  of  middle  life  and  massive 
proportions,  was  in  strong  contrast  to  his  guest.  The 
American-Scot  was  something  of  a  product  of  the  soil. 
He  was  of  the  type  which  forces  its  way  up  from  the 
smallest  of  small  beginnings,  a  type  which  decides  early 
upon  a  career  in  life,  and  which  deviates  not  one  step 
from  the  set  course.     He  was  a  man  of  one  idea — cattle. 


DUG  McFARLANE  249 

He  knew  nothing  beyond — cattle.  Cattle  was  the  sum 
and  substance  of  his  celibate  life.  He  was  an  old  type 
of  ranchman  whose  waking  hours  were  devoted  to  a 
physical  labor  which  left  no  room  for  anything  else.  But 
Jeff  knew  that  for  all  his  roughness  of  manner  and  speech, 
a  roughness  which  left  his  own  partner,  Bud,  a  man  of 
education  and  refinement  beside  him,  he  counted  his 
wealth,  as  he,  Jeff,  could  only  hope  to  count  his  in  the 
distant  years  to  come. 

Jeff  was  his  guest  for  the  night,  and  the  dispute  upon 
which  he  was  to  arbitrate  was  to  be  settled  upon  the 
arrival  of  the  man  Peters.  And  while  they  waited  they 
talked  of  the  thing  which  was  their  mutual  interest. 
The  land  and  its  produce,  whether  animal  or  vegetable, 
was  their  beginning  and  end.  They  discussed  every 
prospect  from  the  overwhelming  competition  of  the  Argen- 
tine, to  the  rapid  transformation  of  grazing  pastures  into 
golden  wheat  fields.  Their  interest  seemed  endless,  and 
it  seemed  only  to  require  the  non-appearance  of  Peters 
for  their  talk  to  continue  until  sleep  overtook  them. 

But  the  break  came  in  the  flow  of  their  "  shop  "  at 
the  mention  of  the  name  of  Peters.  Jeff  was  curious  to 
hear  about  him. 

"  Who  is  this  Peters,  anyway  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  He's 
not  down  in  the  stock  register,  and  nobody  seems  to  have 
found  him  except  you." 

Dug's  reply  came  with  a  great  laugh.  His  very  bright 
gray  eyes  were  full  of  a  good  humor  beneath  his  pro- 
nounced black  brows. 

"  Peters  ?  Why,  I  guess  Peters  'ud  make  a  funeral 
procession  laff.  You've  never  seen  him?  You  don't 
know  him  ?     No.     Sure  you  wouldn't.     Nor  you  wouldn't 


250  THE  FORFEIT 

find  him  registered.  Y'see,  they  don't  register  mixed 
farm  stock.  Anyways,  he  got  me  laffin'  all  the  time. 
But  he's  bright — oh,  yep,  he's  bright,  sure.  He's  a  little 
feller.  To  git  him  right  you  need  to  think  of  a  buck 
louse  with  a  think-box  developed  abnormal.  He's  a 
great  amusin'  little  cuss  when  you  see  him  on  his  patch 
of  land.  You'd  think  he  was  runnin'  a  cirkis  he's  so  busy 
fixin'  things  wrong.  I'd  like  him  fine  if  it  wa'an't  fer  his 
habits.  I  can't  stand  the  feller  who  eats  the  top  of  his 
fingers  raw,  an'  sings  hymns  o'  Sunday  in  a  voice  that 
never  oughter  been  handed  out  to  anything  livin'  that 
hadn't  the  sense  to  choke  itself  at  birth." 

"  Is  that  the  reason  of  the  dispute  ?  "  Jeff  asked  with  a 
smile. 

Dug  grinned  and  shook  his  head. 

"No,  siree,"  he  cried.  "It  ain't  a  thing  to  do  with  it. 
But  I  guess  we'll  keep  clear  of  the  dispute  till  he  gets 
around.  Y'see,  this  arbitration  game  needs  to  be  played 
good.  I'd  hate  to  get  ahead  of  the  little  cuss  by  settin' 
out  my  case  in  private.  Nope.  I  hain't  got  a  thing 
agin  that  grasshopper.  Not  a  thing,  and  I  jest  need  to 
get  this  thing  straightened  right,  even  if  it  goes  agin  me. 
That's  why  we  fixed  on  appealin'  to  you  rather  than  the 
law.  Y'see,  I  could  buy  up  a  decision  at  law,  which 
Peters  knows,  so  we  decided  on  the  right  judgment  of  a 
straight  feller.     Say,  what  in ! " 

Dug  sprang  from  his  chair  with  a  forcible  oath.  Jeff, 
too,  was  on  his  feet.  There  was  a  frantic  clatter  beyond 
the  screen  of  creeper.  A  string  of  hoarse  invective  in 
a  human  voice.  The  hammering  of  horses'  hoofs  and 
the  sound  of  tin  being  battered  in  a  wanton  riot.  Dug 
broke  into  a  great  laugh  as  he  thrust  his  head  out. 


DUG  McFARLANE  251 

"Well,  I  be !"  he  cried. 

Jeff  joined  in  his  laugh.  An  absurdly  small  man  was 
clinging  desperately  to  the  saddle  of  an  absurdly  large 
horse,  which  was  rearing  and  plunging  in  a  wild  effort  to 
shed  its  rider  and  bolt  from  the  neighborhood  of  the 
overturned  smudge-fire  bucket. 

What  a  wealth  of  terror  reigned.  The  gray-headed 
little  man's  face  matched  the  hue  of  his  hair.  His  short 
arms  were  grabbing  frantically  at  his  horse's  neck.  His 
eyes  were  full  of  a  piteous  appeal,  and  his  savage-looking 
spurs  were  firmly  grappling  his  steed's  flanks.  The 
wretched  horse  was  shaking  in  every  limb.  Its  eyes 
were  bulging,  and  the  fierce  snorts  of  his  gushing  nostrils 
had  the  force  of  escaping  steam. 

Before  any  assistance  could  be  offered  by  the  onlookers 
the  climax  was  reached  and  passed.  Elias  Peters  rolled 
slowly  out  of  the  saddle  and  reached  the  ground  with  a 
heavy  flop.  Then,  while  its  recent  burden  gathered  him- 
self up,  quite  unhurt  and  smiling  amiably  in  relief,  the 
horse  contentedly  mouched  off  toward  a  patch  of  invito 
ing  grass. 

"  Guess  I'm  kind  o'  late,  Mr.  McFarlane,"  Elias  apolo- 
gized. "An'  it  seems  I've  bust  up  your  fire-bucket 
some,"  he  added  ruefully.  Then  with  cheery  optimism  : 
"  It  was  hustling  to  get  here.  I  didn't  jest  see  it.  Still, 
I  got  around." 

"You  sure  have,"  grinned  Dug.  Then  he  indicated 
his  companion.  "  This  is  Mr.  Jeffrey  Masters,  President 
of  the  Western  Union.  If  you'll  come  right  along  in  we 
ken  get  things  fixed  up.  Meanwhiles  I'll  jest  have  a 
1  hand  '  round-up  your  plug  an'  feed  him  hay." 


252  THE  FORFEIT 

Another  chair  was  brought  from  the  house  and  Elias 
Peters  was  ensconced  therein.  He  was  a  gray  little  man. 
Gray  from  head  to  foot,  it  seemed.  His  hair,  his 
eyes,  his  skin,  his  whiskers,  his  shirt,  his  loose  jacket 
over  it,  his  trousers.  Even  the  top-boots  he  wore,  which 
had  doubtless  once  been  black.  Everything  about  him 
was  gray. 

Dug  pressed  whisky  on  him. 

"Take  your  time,"  he  had  said,  in  his  easy,  cordial 
fashion.  "Trier'  ain't  no  sort  o'  hurry.  It's  li'ble  to 
shake  a  boy  o'  your  years  foolin'  around  in  the  dust 
when  you'd  oughter  be  in  the  saddle." 

"That's  just  it,  Mr.  McFarlane,"  came  the  prompt,  dis- 
tressed complaint.  "  What  in  the  nature  o'  blamed  things 
made  me  act  that  way  ?  " 

"Jest  the — nature  o'  things,  I  guess." 

The  little  man's  eyes  twinkled. 

"  Guess  you  mean  ther's  folks  who  ain't  in  their  right 
element  in  the  saddle,  an' — I'm  one  of  'em."  Then  he 
turned  on  Jeff,  whose  whole  interest  had  been  quite 
absorbed  in  a  personality  which  Dug  had  described  as 
being  reminiscent  of  a  "  buck  louse."  "  Say,  Mr.  Masters, 
guess  you  ain't  never  tried  any  stunt  like  raisin'  kebbiges 
on  a  hog  ranch?  No,  sure  you  ain't.  Ther's  jest  one 
feller  runnin'  loose  on  this  planet  'ud  act  that  way,  an' 
that's  me.  Guess  I  bin  doin'  it  all  my  life,"  he  added, 
thoughtfully  chewing  a  forefinger.  "  I  was  built  for,  an' 
raised  in  a  fifth  rate  city,  an'  I  got  the  ideas  an'  ambitions 
of  the  President  of  a  Republic.  Ther'  ain't  a  blamed 
thing  I  can't  do  but  I  want  to  do.  An'  the  worst  of  it  is 
ther's  a  sort  o'  restless  spirit  in  me  jest  sets  me  so  crazy 
to  do  it  I  can't  resist  makin'  the  jump.     That's  how  I 


DUG  McFARLANE  253 

come  to  buy  up  a  bum  homestead  up  toward  the  hills 
here,  an'  got  the  notion  I  could  make  a  pile  runnin'  a 
mixed  farm  that  way.  That's  how  I  come  to  get  outside 
a  hoss  when  I'd  be  safer  inside.  That's  how  I  come  to 
*  break '  a  deal  more  prairie  land  than  I  could  ever  sow 
or  harvest.  That's  how  I  bought  machinery  for  a  thou- 
sand acre  farm  when  I'd  only  got  a  half  a  mile.  That's 
how  I  come  to  run  a  bunch  of  cows  without  settin'  up 
fencin*  around  my  crops.  That's  how  I  bo't  the  whole 
blamed  lay-out  without  verifyin'  the  darned  law  feller's 
statement  I'd  got  grazin'  rights  on  Mr.  McFarlane's  grass 
— which  is  the  thing  I  came  right  here  to  yarn  about 
when  I  got  mixed  up  with  that  unnatural  hell,  which  I've 
learned  since  was  only  set  up  to  amuse  the  skitters. 
Kind  o'  makes  me  feel  if  I  was  to  set  fer  my  pictur'  I'd 
sure  come  out  a  shipwreck  at  sea,  or  some  other  darn 
fool  kind  of  unpleasantness." 

Jeff  was  forced  to  echo  the  laugh  which  Dug  indulged 
in  without  restraint.  It  seemed  cruel  in  face  of  the 
strange  little  man's  serious  distress.  But  its  only  effect 
upon  him  was  to  produce  an  inquiring  glance  of  pro- 
found but  unresentful  astonishment. 

"  Guess  I  must  V  said  something,"  he  protested 
mildly.  "  Seems  to  me  I  most  generly  do,  with  Mr.  Mc- 
Farlane  around."  Then  he  smiled  in  his  wintry  fashion, 
which  was  quite  powerless  to  add  warmth  to  his  curious 
aspect  of  grayness.  "  Guess  he  must  ha'  been  born  laffin' 
— p'raps,"  he  added  thoughtfully.  "It's  a  dandy  thing 
bein'  born  laffin'.  I  don't  reckon  I  ever  got  that  luck. 
It's  more  likely  my  moma  got  lost  in  a  fog  the  day 
I  was  born.  Can't  account  noways  fer  things  other- 
wise." 


254  THE  FORFEIT 

Dug  pushed  the  whisky  bottle  at  him  as  a  set-off  to  his 
own  uncontrolled  mirth,  and  in  a  few  moments  contrived 
to  subdue  his  paroxysms  sufficiently  to  start  the  business 
in  hand. 

"  Now,  Masters,"  he  said,  as  soon  as  the  diminutive 
Elias  had  ministered  adequately  to  his  glass,  "  we've  got 
a  curious  proposition  to  set  before  you.  It's  jest  one  o* 
them  things  which  crops  up  in  a  country  like  this,  where 
a  whole  heap  o'  the  laws  happens  along  through  custom. 
An'  like  all  sech  customs,  ther's  li'ble  to  be  a  tarnation  lot 
of  friction  lyin'  around  if  we  can't  get  a  right  settlement. 
Now,  if  we  go  to  the  courts  it's  goin'  to  be  a  mighty  big 
scrap,  eatin'  up  a  hell  of  a  pile  of  dollars.  An'  if  you're 
wise  to  the  ways  of  the  law  fellers  you  ken  just  about 
figger  the  verdict  is  goin'  to  come  along  to  the  feller  with 
the  biggest  wad.  In  this  case  I  guess  I'm  the  feller  with 
the  biggest  wad.  Now,  ther's  no  sort  o'  bad  blood  be- 
tween Peters  an'  me,  'cep'  it  is  he  will  sing  hymns  out- 
rageous on  a  Sunday.  Still,  I  ain't  goin'  to  let  that  cut 
no  ice.  I'm  out  for  a  square  decision  between  us  by  a 
feller  that  don't  know  the  meanin'  of  graft.  I  don't  care 
a  cuss  who  gets  it.  But  I  ain't  goin'  to  be  bluffed  by  any 
fancy  legal  readings  of  a  position  by  city  lawyers  who 
don't  know  the  north  end  of  a  steer  goin'  south  from  the 
cluckin'  proposition  of  a  blind  hen  motherin'  a  litter  o' 
dormice.  Peters  here'll  give  you  his  case,  seein'  he's 
plaintiff,  in  an  elegant  flow  of  warm  air,  an'  when  he's 
through  I'll  sort  of  hand  you  a  counterblast.  An'  when 
we  finished  you'll  hand  out  your  dope  on  the  subject, 
that  is  if  we  ain't  talked  you  into  a  home  for  incurable 
arbitrators.     You'll  get  busy  right  away,  Peters." 

The  rancher's   manner   was  irresistible  in  its  breezy 


DUG  McFARLANE  255 

frankness  and  generosity.  Jeff  wondered  at  him.  Any 
man  of  modern  business  methods,  he  felt,  would  have 
jumped  at  the  advantage  which  his  wealth  would  have 
given  him  in  the  law  courts  over  so  insignificant  a  person 
as  Elias  Peters.  The  whole  situation  inspired  in  him  the 
feeling  that  he  was  in  the  presence  of  a  really  big  man. 
A  man  who  deserved  every  fraction  of  his  success. 

Nor  was  there  any  doubt  as  to  the  little  gray  man's 
feelings  as  he  took  a  drink  of  whisky,  and  fixed  his 
small  eyes  upon  the  weather  and  years-lined  features  of 
his  adversary. 

"  Guess  you've  made  me  feel  'bout  as  big  as  an  under- 
fed skitter,"  he  complained.  "  You  make  me  sort  o'  feel 
I  want  to  tell  you  to  keep  your  darn  grazin'  rights  till  I 
ken  hand  you  a  bunch  of  bills  such  as  I'd  like  to  pass  on 
to  an  honest  man.  But  I  don't  guess  I'm  goin'  to  do  it. 
Y'see,  I  just  can't  afford  it.  If  I  can't  graze  my  stock  on 
your  grass  they  got  to  starve,  or  I  got  to  get  out.  An', 
seein'  I  doped  all  my  wad  into  this  lay-out,  it  'ud  well-nigh 
mean  ruin  to  act  that  way." 

Then  he  turned  to  Jeff,  who  was  almost  bewildered  at 
the  curious  attitude  toward  each  other  of  these  men. 

"  Now,  I  ain't  got  a  fancy  yarn  to  hand  you,"  he  went 
on,  fumbling  in  his  pockets.  "  I  jest  got  my  papers,  here, 
as  I  got  'em  from  the  law  fellers.  You  best  take  'em,  an' 
after  we  done  get  a  look  into  'em."  He  passed  them 
across.  "  Now  these  are  the  fac's  of  how  I  bo't,  why  I 
bo't,  an'  who  I  bo't  from.  The  place  is  a  haf  section,  an' 
they  asked  five  thousand  odd  dollars  for  it.  It  was  a 
bum  sort  o'  homestead,  an'  belonged  to  a  widder  woman 
who'd  got  her  man  shot  up  by  some  rustlers  workin' 
around  this  country.     They  went  by  the  name  of  Whit- 


256  THE  FORFEIT 

stone,  but  their  real  name,  by  them  papers,  was  Van 
Blooren " 

"What  name?"  Jeff's  voice  broke  sharply  in  upon 
the  little  man. 

"  Van  Blooren." 

"  Go  on." 

Jeff's  eyes  were  gazing  out  through  the  lacing  of 
creeper.  He  was  no  longer  regarding  the  man's  unemo- 
tional gray  features. 

"Wal,  the  place  wa'an't  worth  the  five  thousand,  'cep* 
fer  one  clause  in  them  papers.  This  widder  woman 
owned  a  right  to  graze  up  to  two  hundred  head  o'  stock 
on  Mr.  McFarlane's  range.  There  was  no  mention  o' 
lease,  nor  nothin'  to  talk  of  payin'  fer  it.  The  right  was 
in  the  deed  of  sale,  clear  an'  unquestioned.  You'll  see  it 
right  there  in  them  papers.  Wal,  I'm  runnin'  a  hundred 
of  stock,  and  the  haf  section  is  under  cultivation.  Now, 
Mr.  McFarlane  comes  on  me  with  the  news  that  this  wid- 
der woman  had  no  such  rights  to  sell,  an'  that  she  and 
her  man  were  only  allowed  to  graze  their  stock  on  his 
grass  to  help  them  out.  He's  acted  white  over  it  so  far, 
an'  ain't  taken  no  sort  of  action.  He's  jest  let  my  fool 
cows  an'  their  calves  run  around  chewin'  till  their  jaws  is 
tired,  which  is  a  white  way  of  seein'  things.  All  he's 
handed  me  is  that  I  ain't  got  no  right,  an'  the  thing 
stands  pending  your  decision.  He  says  the  whole  propo- 
sition is  jest  business.  He's  got  to  safeguard  the  values 
of  his  property.  Now,  sir,  I  claim  them  rights  by  right 
of  that  deed,  an'  if  ther's  any  case  it's  between  that  Van 
Blooren  widder  an'  Mr.  McFarlane.  You  got  my  papers, 
an' — wal,  how  d'you  guess  I  stand  ?  " 

The  little  man's  eyes  were  anxious  as  he  made  his  final 


DUG  McFARLANE  257 

appeal.  But  no  satisfaction  was  forthcoming  at  the  mo- 
ment. Jeff's  head  was  bent  over  the  papers  he  had  been 
handed.  His  eyes  were  hidden.  He  seemed  wholly  en- 
grossed upon  the  various  clauses  in  the  deed.  Finally 
he  spoke  without  looking  up. 

"  There's  no  deed  granting  grazing  rights  executed  by 
Mr.  McFarlane  here,"  he  said. 

Before  Peters  could  reply,  Dug  broke  in 

"  Trier'  never  was  one  made,"  he  said  easily.  "  I  don't 
guess  you'll  find  it  ther' — 'less  you  use  trick  eyes.  Here 
— say,  Peters  has  given  you  his  story  right.  I  ain't  no 
kick  comin'  to  a  word  of  it.  But  this  thing  has  more 
sides  to  it  than  you'd  fancy.  Now,  I  don't  just  care  a 
cuss  Peters'  grazin'  two  hundred,  or  five  hundred  head 
of  stock  on  my  pastures.  But  if  Peters  bo't  rights  an' 
ken  prove  it,  why,  he's  the  right  to  sell  'em  on  to  any 
feller  who  comes  along,  which  kind  o'  turns  my  ranch 
into  common  land.     Nothin'  doin'.     No,  siree  ! " 

Jeff  had  abandoned  his  search  of  the  papers.  Nor  was 
he  regarding  either  of  the  men.  His  eyes  were  directed 
through  the  lacing  of  creeper,  his  gaze  concentrated 
upon  the  purple  vista  of  the  hills.  His  brows  were  de- 
pressed with  profound  thought.  Nor  were  the  blue 
depths  of  his  eyes  easy.  Peters'  whole  attention  was 
upon  the  rancher. 

11  Now,  see  right  here,  Masters,"  Dug  went  on,  after 
a  deeply  considering  pause.  "  I  got  a  story  to  tell  you 
I'd  have  liked  to  hold  up,  an'  the  reason  I  hate  handin* 
it  you  is  jest  a  sort  o'  fool  sense  of  honor.  Howsum, 
when  folks  git  gay  I  can't  see  you're  right  to  hold  your 
hand.  Now,  them  rights  are  sold  by  the  law  fellers  of 
that  widder  woman,  an',  I  guess,  actin'  under  her  instruc- 


258  THE  FORFEIT 

tions.  Now,  she  knows  she  don't  own  no  rights  to  sell. 
Wal,  I  allow  she's  on  the  crook." 

44  Crook  ? "  Jeff's  interrogation  came  swiftly,  in  a 
harsh  voice  utterly  unlike  his  own.  Then  his  eyes  came 
round  to  the  face  of  the  rancher.  There  was  something 
deadly  in  the  steadiness  of  their  regard.  4<  This  widow," 
he  said.  "  Her  name  is  Van  Blooren.  What  is  her  first 
name,  and  the  first  name  of  her — husband  ?  " 

Before  Dug  could  reply  Peters  pointed  at  the  deeds  of 
sale. 

44  Guess  her  full  name's  writ  ther',"  he  said.  ."  Elvine 
van  Blooren.  Sort  of  queer  name,  ain't  it?  It  sort  o' 
hit  me  that  way  when  I  first  see  it.  Kind  o'  good  name 
fer  a — crook." 

Jeff's  eyes  dropped  to  the  papers  again  as  Dug  gave 
the  other  information  required. 

44  The  man's  name  was  Robert — Bob.  Called  hisself 
when  he  was  here.  Y'see,  his  paw  was  some  swell  guy 
who  guessed  his  son  had  made  some  darn  fool  marriage. 
An'  I  allow  he  was  wise.  Howbe,  their  names  an'  sech 
don't  cut  no  ice." 

"  No." 

Jeff's  monosyllable  brought  Dug's  gaze  swiftly  in  his 
direction.  The  next  moment  they  were  looking  squarely 
into  each  other's  eyes,  and,  as  far  as  Jeff  was  concerned, 
Peters  was  entirely  forgotten. 

44  Will  you  tell  me  all  you  know  of — this  woman  ? " 
Jeff  said,  after  a  moment.  "  I  guess  it'll  be  necessary — 
before  we're  through." 

"  Sure.  That's  how  I  figgered."  A  momentary  ten- 
sion seemed  to  have  been  relaxed.  Dug  once  more 
settled  himself  at  his  ease. 


DUG  McFARLANE  259 

"  'Tain't  a  pretty  yarn,  when  you  come  to  think,"  he 
said,  his  brows  contracting  under  his  feelings.  "  Men 
are  jest  men,  an'  I  guess  you  don't  generly  expect  more'n 
a  stink  from  a  skunk.  But  with  women  it's  diff'rent. 
When  a  feller  thinks  of  women,  he  thinks  of  his  mother, 
or  sweetheart,  or  his  wife.  An'  when  he  thinks  that  way, 
why,  I  don't  guess  he  figgers  to  find  bad  wher'  he  reck- 
oned ther'  was  only  good.  Howsum,  it  kind  o'  seems  to 
me  human  nature's  as  li'ble  to  set  a  feller  cry  in'  as  lafnn' 
most  times.  This  thing  come  over  that  Lightfoot  gang. 
We  got  most  of  'em,  and  those  we  got  if  they  wa'an't 
pumped  full  of  lead  out  of  hand  they  was  hanged.  Sort 
o'  queer,  too,  the  way  we  got  'em.  I'd  set  up  a  reward. 
Ten  thousand  dollars.  It  was  right  out  o'  my  own  bank 
roll.  Wal,  I  set  it  up — the  notice  o'  reward — one  night, 
an'  next  day  got  the  news  we  was  all  yearnin'  for.  Bob 
Whitstone,  as  he  called  himself,  brought  it  right  along  to 
me.  I  hadn't  no  use  fer  the  feller  up  to  then.  He  was 
weak-kneed.  And,  in  a  way,  had  fallen  fer  Ju  Penrose's 
rye.  He'd  come  to  me  once  before  on  the  subject  o' 
these  all-fired  grazin'  rights.  Y'see,  he'd  been  tryin'  to 
git  ahead  raisin'  wheat  in  a  country  where  ther'  was  only 
a  market  fer  cattle  an'  rye  whisky.  Anyway,  he  cut 
most  o'  the  wheat  racket,  an'  guessed  he'd  travel  the 
same  road  as  other  folks,  an'  asked  me  for  permission  to 
graze.  I  was  kind  o'  sorry  about  him,  an'  his  good- 
lookin'  wife — both  city-raised  folk — an'  I  did  as  he  ast. 
I  said  he  could  graze  up  to  two  hundred  head.  Git  a 
line  on  that.  Them  rights  was  verbal  between  him  an* 
me  to  help  him  out.  Ther'  wa'an't  no  sort  o'  deed,  an' 
he  knew  it  wa'an't  no  saleable  proposition.  Wal,  when 
he  come  along  in  with  his  news  I  set  him  right  through 


26o  THE  FORFEIT 

it,  an'  I  allow,  before  I  quit  him,  I  got  the  notion  that  fer 
all  his  addled  ways  there  was  a  heap  to  him  I  hadn't 
guessed.  He  started  by  say  in'  he'd  located  the  rustlers, 
got  their  camp  set  in  the  hills,  an'  could  hand  over  the 
whole  blamed  bunch  right  away  quick.  That  was  ele- 
gant. But  I  ast  him  how  it  come  he'd  on'y  located  'em 
twelve  hours  after  I'd  set  up  a  ten  thousand  dollar  reward. 
Y'see,  they'd  been  rustlin'  around  fi'  years.  Wal,  to  cut 
a  long  yarn,  I  got  the  whole  thing  out  of  him  in  quick 
time — he  was  like  a  kid  in  my  hands.  He  hadn't  located 
that  camp,  he  wasn't  goin'  to  touch  a  cent  of  them  ten 
thousand.  He  called  it  *  blood  money,'  an'  cussed  it 
good  an'  plenty  with  an  elegant  flow.  It  was  his  wife. 
Yes,  siree,  it  was  the  woman  driving  the  man.  She'd 
located  them  rustlers  by  chance  only  the  day  before, 
while  he  was  around  Ju's  place  sousin'  rye.  When  he 
got  home  an  told  her  of  the  reward,  she  was  nigh 
crazy  to  git  her  hands  on  the  dollars.  Seems  to  me 
ther'  must  have  been  a  mighty  scrap-up.  I  guess  she 
told  him  of  his  ways,  an'  what  he'd  brought  her  to — in  a 
way  some  women-folk  can.  I  didn't  git  it  all  clear. 
Y'see,  he  did  his  best  to  screen  her.  Anyways,  she 
made  him  promise  to  fix  things  so  she  touched  those 
dollars.  An'  that's  why  he  come  to  me.  Ther's  jest 
one  thing  stuck  in  my  head  so  I  can't  lose  it.  It  was  his 
last  words  to  me  about  it.  He  says,  says  he,  see  here, 
Mr.  McFarlane,  I  need  one  favor  out  o'  you.  I  want  to 
go  with  you  on  this  racket,  an'  if  ther's  any  mercy  in  the 
God  of  Heaven,  he'll  let  me  get  my  dose  when  the 
shootin'  starts.  Erne — that's  how  he  called  his  wife — 
wants  them  dollars,  an'  you'll  see  she  gets  'em.  But  for 
me   I   just  couldn't  ever  live  around  a  woman  who'd 


DUG  McFARLANE  261 

handled  that  blood  money  I  He  didn't  use  them  words. 
They're  mine.  But  it's  'bout  how  he  put  it.  Wal,  when 
the  play  was  over  he'd  had  his  wish.  He  was  dropped 
plumb  in  his  tracks.  Then  I  handed  his  widder  the 
dollars.  She  ain't  around  these  parts  now  so  it  don't 
matter  handin'  you  the  story  of  it.  Maybe  she's  married 
agin.  She  was  some  picture  woman.  But  anyway  I'd 
say  right  here,  the  woman  who  could  take  the  price  of 
men's  lives  would  be  low  enough  to  bluff  a  boy  like 
Peters  here  out  of  his  stock  of  dollars  on  a  play  like  these 
rights.  An'  that's  why  I  reckon  this  thing's  been  done 
on  the  crook." 

He  reached  round  for  his  glass  and  took  a  deep  drink 
in  the  silence  that  followed  his  story.  Then,  as  neither 
the  man  who  was  to  arbitrate,  nor  Peters,  attempted  to 
break  it,  he  went  on : 

"  Guess  a  reward's  jest  a  reward,  an'  you  can't  kick 
at  the  feller  who  comes  along  an'  grabs  a  holt  on  it.  But 
when  a  woman,  young,  a  good-looker,  an'  eddicated,  an' 
refined,  gits  grabbin',  why,  it  makes  you  see  sulphur  an' 
brimstone,  an'  horns  an'  hoofs  when  your  thoughts  are 
full  o'  buzzin'  white  wings  an'  harps,  an'  halos  an'  things. 
Git  me  ?  I  guess  stealin'  dollars  out  o'  a  citizen's  pocket- 
book  wouldn't  be  a  circumstance  to  a  female  of  that 
nature.  Say,  I  ain't  got  rid  o'  the  stink  of  it  yet,  though 
it  happened  four  years  ago." 

The  man's  contempt  and  loathing  were  intense.  He 
had  offered  the  reward,  paid  it,  he  had  led  the  Vigilantes 
in  the  hanging.  But  these  things  were  simply  part  of 
the  justice  of  man  as  he  saw  it,  and  rightly  administered. 

The  silent  moments  slipped  by.  Jeffrey  Masters  was 
sitting  erect  in  his  chair.     A  marble  coldness  seemed  to 


262  THE  FORFEIT 

have  settled  itself  upon  his  keen  face.  Peters  was  waiting 
for  that  decision  he  desired.  Dug  McFarlane,  with  more 
understanding,  realized  that  something  was  wrong.  He, 
too,  remained  silent,  however. 

At  last  Jeff  stirred.  His  gaze  shifted.  It  turned  half 
vaguely  upon  the  little  man  Peters.  Then  it  seemed  to 
drift  unmeaningly  toward  the  rancher.  A  moment  later 
it  fell  upon  the  papers  he  was  so  tightly  gripping.  It 
was  then  that  realization  seemed  to  come  upon  him.  He 
reached  out  and  handed  the  deeds  to  their  owner.  A 
moment  later  he  was  on  his  feet,  and  had  moved  across 
to  the  front  of  the  veranda,  where  he  stood,  slim,  erect, 
and  with  his  back  turned  upon  the  others. 

He  cleared  his  throat  and  spoke  in  a  steady  voice. 

"  I  can  only  hand  you  a  decision  on  the  intention  as 
apart  from  the  legal  aspect  of  the  case,"  he  said  judicially. 
"  It's  clear  to  me  no  saleable  rights  were  given.  There 
was  no  transaction  over  them.  The  widow  of  this  man 
had  no  rights  to  sell.  If  disinterested  advice  is  accept- 
able I  should  urge  this.  It's  in  view,  I  guess,  of  McFar- 
lane's  expressed  indifference  to  Peters'  cattle  grazing  on 
his  land.  Let  Peters  acknowledge  he  has  no  rights.  Then 
let  McFarlane  enter  into  an  agreement  that  Peters  can  run 
his  stock  on  his  land,  the  right  being  non-transferable. 
I  should  put  the  whole  thing  in  writing." 

"  An'  a  darn  good  an'  honest  decision,  too,"  cried  Dug 
heartily. 

The  shadow  of  a  beatific  smile  passed  over  Peters' 
small  features. 

"Bully!"  he  murmured.  Then  he  added:  "But  I 
sort  o'  feel  we  both  oughter  set  the  law  on  that — she 
devil." 


DUG  McFARLANE  263 

Jeff  turned  abruptly.  His  movement  was  almost 
electrical. 

"  I  shouldn't,"  he  said  sharply. 

Dug  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  desperate  light  in  his 
eyes. 

"  Why  not?"  There  was  a  dash  of  resentment  in 
Peters'  tone. 

But  Jeff  was  spared  a  reply.  Dug  anticipated  him  with 
an  oath. 

M  Gol  darn  you,  because  she's — a  woman  1 "  he  cried, 
with  a  fierce  warmth.  "  Hell  take  it  you  ken  have  your 
rights.  That's  enough,  I  guess.  I'll  have  the  papers 
wrote,  an'  have  you  sign  'em  to-morrow.  Meanwhile, 
I'm  sick  to  death  of  the  whole  blamed  thing.  I  quit  right 
here." 

His  intention  was  plain  enough.  He  meant  there 
should  be  no  misunderstanding  it.  And  the  little  man, 
Peters,  took  his  dismissal  without  demur. 

The  moment  Peters  had  safely  negotiated  the  saddle 
and  vanished  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  Dug  pressed  the  whisky 
bottle  upon  his  guest.  Jeff  almost  mechanically  accepted 
it.  He  gulped  down  a  stiff  drink  of  neat  spirit.  Dug 
watched  him. 

"  Guess  you're  feelin'  pretty  darn  saddle  weary,"  he 
said  kindly. 

Jeff  flung  himself  into  his  chair  without  replying. 

Dug  returned  to  his  seat  and  gazed  out  at  the  yellow 
and  purple  afterglow  of  sunset. 

"  Say,  maybe  you'd  feel  like  handin'  me  the  reason 
you  wouldn't  set  the  law  on  to  that — woman  ?  "  he  went 
on  presently. 

The  question  was  by  no  means  idle.     It  was  inspired 


264  THE  FORFEIT 

by  the  man's  genuinely  kindly  nature.  Somehow,  he  felt 
that  he  had  been  responsible  for  that  which  he  had  seen, 
still  saw,  in  this  man's  eyes. 

But  he  was  wholly  unprepared  for  the  reply  forth- 
coming. It  came  promptly.  Each  word  came  distinctly, 
deliberately,  in  a  voice  of  bitter  coldness.  The  tragedy 
of  it  left  the  rancher  speechless. 

"  Because  I  married  El  vine  van  Blooren  just  over  six 
weeks  ago." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  RETURN   HOME 

A  LONG  day  of  anxiety  and  fevered  apprehension 
merged  into  a  night  of  terror.  It  was  the  outcome  of  a 
conviction  that  was  irresistible.  The  shadow  of  disaster 
was  marching  hard  upon  her  heels.  Nor  had  she  the 
power  to  avoid  it. 

As  night  came  on  Elvine  remained  alone  in  her  twilit 
bedroom.  She  had  no  desire  to  come  into  contact  with 
the  servants,  she  had  no  desire  for  human  companionship 
of  any  sort.  So,  with  the  fading  light,  she  betook  herself 
to  the  bedroom. 

But  there  was  no  relief.  It  was  haunted  to-night, 
teeming  with  the  fancies  of  a  dreading  imagination.  It 
seemed  to  her  like  the  cell  of  a  condemned  prisoner. 

The  day  had  passed  heavily,  drearily.  Every  mo- 
ment of  it  had  been  filled  with  the  thought  that  Jeff 
was  on  his  way  to  Orrville.  On  his  way  to  meet  Dug 
McFarlane.  On  his  way  to  meet  the  one  man  in  whose 
hands  her  whole  fate  lay.  He  alone  knew  the  source  of 
the  ten  thousand  dollars  which  she  had  carried  back  to 
her  paternal  home  as  the  net  result  of  her  first  marriage. 
He  alone  knew  it  to  be  the  price  of  the  blood  of  men, 
amongst  whom  was  the  twin  brother  of  her  present 
husband. 

Memory  was  alive,  and  full  of  a  poignant  torture.     It 


266  THE  FORFEIT 

brought  back  to  her  the  scene  when  she  had  driven  her 
first  husband  to  help  her  to  the  money  she  had  desired  to 
possess.  He  had  spoken,  in  his  horror  and  anger,  of 
"blood  money,"  of  "Judas,"  and  she  would  not  hear. 
She  had  derided  him,  she  had  lashed  him  with  the  scorn 
of  an  unbridled  tongue,  she  had  turned  upon  him  in  her 
selfish  craving,  without  a  thought  of  any  principle. 

Now  she  understood  what  she  had  done,  but  she  only 
understood  because  of  the  threat  which  overshadowed 
her.  It  was  no  spiritual  awakening.  It  was  again  the 
self  in  her,  threatened  in  its  desires  as  a  result  of  her 
earlier  wanton  actions.  Her  motives,  even  the  picture  of 
the  carnage  in  that  hidden  valley,  which  came  back  to 
her  unbidden,  had  no  power  to  add  to  the  hopelessness 
of  her  feelings.  Every  emotion  was  wrapped  in  the 
thought  that  she  was  about  to  be  robbed  of  all  the  fruits 
of  the  one  great  passion  of  her  life. 

She  had  one  desire  now,  one  motive  in  life  only.  It 
was  the  man  she  had  married.  The  man  she  had  de- 
signed to  marry  for  the  station  and  wealth  he  could  offer 
her,  and  who  had  almost  instantly  become  the  centre  of 
her  whole  life.  Nothing  of  any  worldly  consideration 
counted  any  longer.  There  was  nothing  could  interest 
her  of  which  he  did  not  occupy  the  centre  of  the  focus. 
Self  dominated  still,  but  it  was  a  more  human  type  of 
self,  which  had,  perhaps,  some  rightful  claim  on  human 
sympathy. 

The  shadows  grew,  and  the  wide  airy  room  was  filled 
with  a  hundred  added  terrors  which  claimed  reality  in  the 
troubled  brain.  The  silence  of  the  world  about  her  be- 
came a  threat.  The  darkening  of  the  cloudless  sky  be- 
yond the  open  window.    She  sat  on,  refusing  to  invoke 


THE  RETURN  HOME  267 

the  aid  of  lamp-light  to  banish  the  gathering  legions  of 
her  dread.     She  knew  it  was  impossible  to  banish  them. 

Oh,  she  had  no  physical  fear  of  the  world  about  her. 
What  was  there  to  fear  ?  Did  she  not  know  it  all  ?  Had 
she  not  lived  it  all  before  ?  The  two  wide  open  windows 
invited  her.  She  moved  to  one  of  them,  and  drew  a  chair 
so  that  she  could  rest  upon  the  sill  and  gaze  out  into  the 
space  so  perfectly  jeweled.  And  the  cool  night  air  fanned 
her  cheeks,  and  seemed  to  relieve  the  fever  that  was  rag- 
ing behind  her  hot  eyes. 

The  morrow.  There  was  no  other  concern  with  her 
now  but — the  morrow.  To-morrow  Jeff  would  return. 
To-morrow  she  would  know  the  worst,  she  would  know 
if  the  purpose  of  Fate  were  for  or  against  her.  Oh,  that 
to-morrow  !  And  in  the  meantime  there  were  intermina- 
ble hours  of  darkness  to  endure,  when  sleep  was  im- 
possible. And  after  that  the  daylight,  when  she  must 
fear  every  eye  that  was  turned  in  her  direction,  when 
every  moment  brought  nearer  the  possibility  of  the  end 
for  her  of  all  things  in  the  world  which  mattered. 

The  night  wore  on.  Midnight  came  and  passed.  She 
had  not  moved  again.  Her  straining  eyes  had  watched 
the  starry  groups  as  they  set  beyond  the  horizon.  There 
was  no  moon  to  create  shadows  upon  the  wide,  rolling 
pasture  before  her.  Everything  was  in  shadow,  just  as 
her  every  thought  was  similarly  enwrapped.  There  was 
no  relief  anywhere. 

Once  she  heard  a  sound  that  set  her  jarred  nerves 
hammering.  It  was  a  distant  sound,  and,  to  her  fancy, 
it  was  the  rapid  beat  of  horse's  hoofs  sweeping  across 
the  wide  valley.  But  it  died  out.  She  had  been  caught 
by  the  thought  of  the  possibility  of  her  husband's  return, 


268  THE  FORFEIT 

suddenly,  in  the  night.  She  pictured  for  one  brief  in- 
stant the  headlong  race  of  the  man  to  charge  her  with 
the  crime  of  his  brother's  life. 

She  saw  that  keen,  stern  face  with  its  cold  blue  eyes 
and  the  grimly  tightened  lips.  She  had  seen  some  such 
expression  there  before,  and  she  knew  there  were  depths 
within  his  soul  which  she  had  never  probed,  and  hoped 
that  she  might  never  have  to  probe. 

It  was  the  mystery  of  these  unknown  depths  which  had 
inspired  her  passion.  It  was  because  of  that  cognizance 
of  something  unusual,  profound,  in  his  personality  that 
he  had  first  become  so  completely  desirable.  Then  as 
she  grew  to  know  him,  so  she  found  she  knew  him  less, 
and  desired  to  know  him  more.  Her  love  and  worship 
of  him  was  of  the  primitive.  It  was  such  as  is  the  love 
of  all  women  when  inspired  by  an  emotion  not  untouched 
by  fear. 

So,  when  the  sounds  of  hoof-beats  broke  the  night  si- 
lence, she  became  panic-stricken,  because  such  a  return, 
at  such  an  hour,  could  have  but  one  meaning. 

Then  the  sounds  passed,  and  her  nerves  steadied,  and 
presently  a  stirring  night  breeze  rustled  the  lank  grass. 
It  came  over  the  plain  toward  her.  It  reached  her  win- 
dow and  fanned  her  cheeks  with  its  chill  breath.  Then 
it  passed,  sighing  round  an  angle  of  the  house.  Then,  in 
its  wake,  came  the  plaintive  dole  of  a  scavenging  coyote. 
The  combination,  to  her  fancy,  was  an  echo  of  her  feelings. 
It  was  the  sigh  of  despair,  and  the  cry  of  a  lost  soul. 

Presently  the  drowse  of  utter  weariness  descended  upon 
her.  The  dread  of  thought  remained  heavily  overshad- 
owing, but  a  certain  distortion  displayed  the  reaching  ol 
limits  beyond  which  human  power  could  not  go,  even  in 


THE  RETURN  HOME  269 

suffering.  It  was  a  merciful  nature  asserting  itself.  Her 
eyes  closed,  slowly,  gently,  with  a  drowsy  helplessness. 
Once  her  elbow  slipped  from  the  sill  of  the  window  and 
awoke  her.  A  somnolent  thought  that  she  would  go  to 
bed  passed  dully  through  her  mind.  But  she  did  not  act 
upon  it.  She  propped  her  head  upon  her  hand  once 
more,  and,  in  a  moment,  everything  was  forgotten. 

She  awoke  with  a  start.  There  was  no  drowse  in  her 
wakefulness  now.  Her  eyes  were  wide,  and  her  thoughts 
alert.  The  sensation  of  a  blow,  a  light,  unforceful  blow 
was  still  tingling  through  her  nerves.  The  blow,  it  seemed, 
had  fallen  upon  her  forehead,  and  she  thrust  a  hand  up 
mechanically  to  the  spot.  But  the  action  yielded  her  no 
enlightenment.     There  was  no  pain,  no  sign. 

She  peered  through  the  open  window  and  realized  that 
the  moon  had  risen.  She  stared  at  it,  and  presently  it 
occurred  to  her  that  she  must  have  slept,  and,  by  the  posi- 
tion of  the  moon  above  the  horizon,  for  at  least  an  hour. 

Then  her  thoughts  returned  to  the  blow  which  had 
awakened  her,  and  the  conclusion  followed  that  it  must 
have  been  the  result  of  the  half-blind  flight  of  one  of  those 
great  winged  beetles. 

She  closed  the  window  abruptly.  She  closed  the  sec- 
ond one.  Then,  having  drawn  the  curtains,  she  fumbled 
for  the  matches  and  lit  the  candles  upon  her  dressing 
bureau.  It  was  her  intention  to  search  for  the  intruding 
beetle,  and  then  retire. 

But  her  search  terminated  abruptly.  It  terminated 
even  as  it  began.  That  which  had  struck  her  was  lying 
almost  at  her  feet  upon  the  soft  rug  on  which  she  stood, 
and  within  a  yard  of  where  she  had  been  sitting.  It  was 
a  piece  of  paper  tied  about  a  small  ball  of  soil. 


270  THE  FORFEIT 

She  stared  down  at  it  for  some  startled  moments.  The 
effects  of  her  dread  were  still  upon  her,  and  they  set  up  a 
sort  of  panic  which  made  her  fearful  of  touching  the 
missile.  But  it  could  not  remain  there  uninspected. 
There  could  be  no  thought  of  retiring  without  learning 
the  meaning  of  what  lay  there  on  the  floor. 

Gingerly  she  stooped  with  a  candle  in  her  hand.  She 
stooped  lower,  but  making  no  attempt  to  touch  the  thing 
which  had  disturbed  her.  The  candle  revealed  a  folded 
sheet  of  white  paper.  A  string  bound  it  round  the  rooted 
portion  of  a  grass  tuft. 

After  a  few  moments  she  reached  out  and  picked  it  up. 
The  next  moment  she  was  standing  erect  at  her  bureau, 
and  with  a  pair  of  scissors  she  severed  the  string  and 
dropped  the  grass  tuft  to  the  floor. 

The  paper  was  folded  and  thumb-marked  by  dirty 
hands.  With  shaking  fingers  and  tense  nerves  she  de- 
liberately unfolded  it. 

It  was  a  note,  and  she  read  it  eagerly. 

"  You  sold  the  lives  of  men  for  a  price.  You  had 
it  your  way  then.  We're  goin'  to  have  our  way  now. 
You'll  pay  for  that  deal  the  only  way  we  know." 

El  vine  sat  watching  the  scenes  of  the  work  of  the 
range.  The  men  were  returning  from  distant  points 
making  for  the  ranch  house  where  their  evening  meal 
was  awaiting  them  at  the  bunkhouse.  Teams  were  mov- 
ing toward  the  barns,  and  barn-hands  were  watering 
those  which  had  already  returned.  There  was  a  general 
stir  everywhere.  Certain  stock  was  being  corralled  and 
hayed  for  the  night.  In  the  hay  corral  men  were  busy 
cutting  and  hauling  feed.     There  was  no  loneliness,  no 


THE  RETURN  HOME  271 

solitude.  The  business  of  so  great  an  enterprise  as  the 
Obar  Ranch  involved  many  hands,  and  seemingly  endless 
work. 

But  Elvine  watched  these  things  without  interest.  In 
her  present  state  of  mind  they  meant  nothing  to  her, 
they  could  mean  nothing.  She  was  waiting,  waiting  in 
a  perfect  fever  for  the  home-coming  of  her  husband. 

Strangely,  too,  she  was  not  without  a  glimmer  of  hope. 
Somehow  the  belief  had  taken  possession  of  her  that  had 
Jeff  learned  anything  of  her  story  he  must  have  been 
home  before  this.  It  seemed  to  her  that  he  must  have 
flung  every  consideration  to  the  winds,  and  rushed  in 
fevered  haste  to  denounce  her  as  the  murderess  of  his 
twin  brother. 

The  mysterious  note  which  had  been  flung  in  through 
her  open  window  had  left  her  sleepless  for  the  rest  of  the 
night,  but,  even  so,  now,  in  the  broad  light  of  day,  it 
was  only  relatively  alarming.  The  other  terror  over- 
whelmed it. 

The  sun  was  already  tinting  the  hilltops  with  ruddy, 
golden  hues.  The  frigid  snow-caps  no  longer  wore  their 
sheen  of  alabaster.  There  was  a  golden  radiance  every- 
where, a  suggestion  of  a  perfect  peace,  such  as  the  woman 
felt  could  never  again  find  place  in  her  heart. 

She  turned  her  eyes  from  the  splendor  of  the  scene  in 
silent  protest.  The  green  of  the  wide-spreading  valley, 
even  the  dark  purple  shadows  of  the  lower  mountain 
slopes  were  better  in  harmony  with  her  mood.  But  even 
these  she  denied  in  her  nervous  irritation,  and  again,  and 
yet  again,  her  searching  gaze  was  flung  out  to  the  north- 
west along  the  trail  over  which  she  knew  her  husband 
must  come. 


272  THE  FORFEIT 

The  waiting  seemed  endless.  And  the  woman's  heart 
literally  stood  still  when  at  last  she  detected  an  infinites- 
imal flurry  of  dust  away  on  the  far  distance  of  the  trail. 
A  mad  desire  surged  through  her  to  flee  for  hiding  to 
those  vast  purple  solitudes  she  knew  to  lie  in  the  heart  of 
the  hills. 

She  remained  where  she  was,  however.  She  stirred 
not  a  muscle.  She  was  powerless  to  do  so.  What,  what 
had  the  coming  of  the  man  for  her?  It  was  the  one 
absorbing  question  which  occupied  her  whole  brain  and 
soul. 

The  dust  flurry  grew  to  a  long  trail  in  the  wake  of  a 
horseman.  In  five  minutes  he  stood  out  ahead  of  it,  clear 
to  the  eye.  In  ten  his  identity  was  distinguishable.  And 
presently  he  rode  swiftly  at  a  gallop  past  the  ranch  build- 
ings and  drew  up  before  the  house. 

The  rack  of  that  moment  was  superlative.  The 
woman's  hands  clenched  and  her  finger  nails  dug  into 
the  soft  flesh  of  her  palms.  There  was  no  greeting 
upon  her  lips.  She  only  had  power  to  stare ;  her  wide 
beautiful  eyes  were  searching  the  face  of  the  man  she 
loved,  searching  it  as  the  criminal  in  the  dock  might 
search  the  face  of  the  judge  about  to  pass  sentence. 

Her  tongue  was  ready  for  its  release.  Pent  words  lay 
deep  in  her  soul  for  an  outpouring  at  the  lightest  sign. 
But  these  things  were  dependent,  dependent  upon  the 
reading  she  found  in  the  man's  eyes. 

The  horse  stood  drooping  at  the  termination  of  its 
effort.  The  man  sprang  from  the  saddle.  A  barn-hand 
took  the  beast  away  to  its  stable.  Elvine's  tongue  re- 
mained almost  cleaving  to  the  roof  of  her  mouth. 

The  man's  fair  brows  were  depressed.     His  eyes  were 


THE  RETURN  HOME  273 

sternly  cold.  And  not  once  did  they  turn  in  her  direc- 
tion. He  spoke  in  his  usual  tone  to  the  barn-hand.  He 
issued  his  orders  without  a  sign  of  emotion. 

Elvine  could  stand  no  more.  She  stirred.  Then 
slowly  she  passed  within  the  house. 

Presently  Jeff's  step  sounded  on  the  veranda.  It  was 
quick.  There  was  nothing  lagging  in  it.  The  woman 
gripped  the  back  of  a  chair  in  the  living-room  in  which 
she  had  taken  refuge.     She  was  seeking  support. 

The  man  entered  the  room.  Nor  did  he  remove  his 
hat.  He  stood  just  within  the  window  opening,  and  his 
eyes,  cold  as  the  gleam  of  the  mountain  glaciers,  regarded 
her  steadily. 

"I  see  you  understand,"  he  said.  "You  realized 
what  must  happen  when  I  visited  Dug  McFarlane  in  the 
matter  of  Peters,  who  bought  your  dead  husband's 
farm.  You  knew  it  when  you  read  that  letter  I  gave 
you.  And  so  you  protested.  So  you  assured  me  of — 
your  regard." 

He  came  a  step  nearer.  The  movement  was  almost 
involuntary. 

"  I  have  prayed  to  God  that  some  day  he  might  bring 
me  face  to  face  with  the  person  who  sold  my  brother's 
life.  He  has  granted  me  my  prayer.  But  it  never  en- 
tered my  wildest  dreams  that  it  could  be  the  woman  I 
married.  I  never  questioned  your  past.  To  me  it  was 
sufficient  that  you  had  taught  me  the  meaning  of  love. 
To  me  you  must  be  all  you  seemed.  No  more,  no  less. 
God  help  me,  I  had  no  imagination  to  tell  me  that  so  fair 
a  body  could  contain  so  foul  a  heart.  Were  you  not  my 
wife,  were  you  a  man,  I  should  know  how  to  deal  with 
that  which  lies  between  us.     As  it  is  you  must  thank  the 


274  THE  FORFEIT 

difference  in  our  sex  for  that  which  nothing  else  could 
have  done  for  you.  As  yet  I  have  not  had  the  time  to 
arrange  the  details  of  our  future.  To-morrow,  perhaps, 
things  will  have  cleared  in  my  mind.  I  shall  sleep  to- 
night over  at  Bud's " 

"  Oh,  Jeff,  Jeff,  have  mercy.     I " 


"Mercy?  Mercy?"  A  sudden  fire  blazed  up  where 
only  a  frigid  light  had  shone.  The  man's  tones  were 
alive  with  a  fury  of  passion.  "  Did  you  have  mercy  ?  Was 
there  one  merciful,  womanly  emotion  in  your  cruel,  selfish 
heart  when  you  sent  those  men,  that  man  to  his  death  for 
ten  thousand  filthy  dollars  ?  Pray  to  God  for  mercy,  not 
to  me." 

A  curious  sullen  light  dawned  in  the  woman's  eyes. 
But  even  as  it  dawned  it  faded  with  the  man's  movement 
to  depart. 

"  You — you  won't  leave  me  ?  "  she  pleaded.  "  Oh,  Jeff, 
I  love  you  so.  What  I  did  was  in  ignorance,  in  cruel, 
selfish  longing.  I  had  been  reduced  to  the  life  of  a  drudge 
without  hope,  without  even  a  house  fit  for  existence.  I 
believed  I  had  honest  right.  I  believed  even  that  my  act 
was  a  just  one.  Jeff,  Jeff,  don't  leave  me,  don't  drive  me 
out  of  your  life.  I  cannot  bear  it.  Anything,  anything 
but  that.  My  God,  I  don't  deserve  it.  I  don't — true. 
Jeff— Jeff!" 

Her  final  appeal  came  as  the  man,  without  a  word, 
passed  through  the  open  window.  She  followed  him  in 
a  desperate  hope.  But  the  hope  was  vain.  She  saw  him 
mount  the  fresh  horse  which  had  been  brought  round  and 
left  at  the  tying  post. 

As  he  turned  the  beast  about  to  depart,  just  for  one  in- 
stant he  looked  in  her  direction. 


THE  RETURN  HOME  275 

"  I  will  see  you  again  in  the  morning.  By  that  time  I 
shall  have  decided  what  is  best  for  us  both." 

He  waited  for  no  more.  There  was  nothing  to  wait  for. 
He  lifted  the  reins  and  his  horse  set  off.  The  dust  rose 
up  and  screened  him  from  view. 

Once  more  Elvine  was  standing  on  the  veranda.  Once 
more  her  gaze  was  following  the  trail  of  rising  dust.  But 
there  was  no  fever  of  suspense  in  her  beautiful  eyes  now. 
There  were  not  even  tears.  The  blow  had  fallen.  Fate 
had  caught  up  with  her.  Its  merciless  onrush  had  over- 
whelmed her.  She  was  crushed.  She  was  broken  under 
its  sledge-hammer  blow.  She  stood  drooping,  utterly, 
utterly  broken  and  spiritless  before  the  man's  swift,  brief 
indictment  and  action. 

The  end  had  come.  Nor  had  it  anything  of  the  end 
she  had  visualized  in  her  dread.  It  was  ten  times  more 
cruel  than  she  had  even  dared  to  dream. 


CHAPTER  XX 

AT  BUD'S 

SUPPER  was  over  when  Jeff  arrived.  He  came  straight 
into  the  room  where  the  colored  girl  had  just  finished 
clearing  the  table.  Nan  was  returning  a  few  odds  and 
ends  to  their  places.  Bud  had  already  lit  his  evening  pipe 
preparatory  to  settling  down  for  the  brief  interim  before 
turning  in  for  the  night. 

There  was  no  preamble.  There  was  no  sign  of  emo- 
tion, even  at  the  moment  of  his  arrival.  Jeff  launched  his 
request  at  father  and  daughter  in  a  voice  such  as  he  might 
have  used  in  the  most  commonplace  of  affairs. 

It  was  a  request  to  be  put  up  for  the  night. 

But  both  Bud  and  Nan  were  startled.  Nan's  cheeks 
paled,  and  imagination  gripped  her.  She  said  nothing. 
With  Bud  to  be  startled  was  to  instantly  resort  to  verbal 
expression. 

"Wot's  wrong?"  he  demanded. 

Then  the  storm  broke.  It  broke  almost  immoderately 
before  these  two  who  were  the  intimates  of  Jeff's  life.  All 
that  had  been  withheld  before  Dug  McFarlane,  all  which 
he  had  refused  to  display  before  the  wife  he  had  set  up 
for  his  worship,  Jeff  had  no  scruples  in  laying  before  these 
two.  It  was  the  sure  token  of  the  relations  between  them, 
relations  of  perfect  trust  and  sympathy. 

Bud  sat  gazing  at  the  outward  sign  of  the  passionate 
fires  he   had  always  known   to  lie  smouldering  in  the 


AT  BUD'S  277 

depths  of  this  man's  soul.  Nan  stood  paralyzed  before 
such  violence.  Both  knew  that  hell  was  raging  under 
the  storm  of  emotion.  Both  knew  that  the  wounds 
inflicted  upon  this  man's  strong  heart  were  well-nigh 
mortal. 

The  whole  story  was  told,  broken,  disjointed.  For  the 
first  time  Nan  learned  the  result  of  the  search  for  an 
erring  twin  brother,  and  her  horror  was  unbounded.  A 
heart  full  of  tenderness  bled  for  the  man  whose  sufferings 
she  was  witnessing.  The  story  of  Elvine's  own  actions 
filled  her  with  revolting,  yet  with  pity.  It  was  not  in  her 
to  condemn  easily.  She  felt  that  such  acts  were  beyond 
her  powers  of  judgment. 

The  man's  grief,  his  bitter,  passionate  resentment  smote 
her  beyond  any  sufferings  she  had  ever  known  herself. 
Elvine  absorbed  all  the  anger  she  could  bestow,  but  even 
so  it  was  infinitesimal  beside  the  harvest  of  grief  which 
the  sight  of  this  man's  suffering  yielded  her.  That  was 
the  paramount  emotion  of  the  moment  with  her.  That, 
and  the  injustice  she  deemed  to  have  been  meted  out  to 
him. 

It  was  not  until  the  great  crescendo  of  the  man's  storm 
of  grief  had  passed  that  Nan  bethought  herself  of  the 
need  in  which  he  stood.  Nor  was  that  need  apparent 
until  his  whole  note  had  changed  to  a  moody  bitterness 
with  which  he  regarded  the  future.  Then  she  under- 
stood the  demon  that  was  knocking  at  the  door  of  his 
soul. 

Immediately  her  decision  was  taken.  She  left  the 
two  men  together  and  went  to  make  the  necessary  prep- 
arations for  this  refugee's  accommodation.  Curiously 
enough,  these  preparations  were  not  complete  for  nearly 


278  THE  FORFEIT 

an  hour,  at  the  time,  in  fact,  that  it  was  her  father's  habit 
to  seek  his  bed. 

When  she  returned  to  the  parlor  the  place  was  full  of 
the  reek  of  Bud's  tobacco,  but  it  was  only  from  the  one 
pipe.  Neither  of  the  men  were  talking  when  she  entered 
the  room,  and  her  glance  passed  swiftly  from  one  to  the 
other. 

She  moved  over  to  where  Jeff  was  sitting  with  his  back 
turned  to  her,  and  stood  behind  his  chair. 

"  Everything's  fixed  for  you,  Jeff,"  she  said.  "  But — 
but  maybe  you  don't  feel  like  turning  in  yet.  My  Daddy 
usually  goes  at  this  time,  and — he's  had  a  hard  day." 

Bud  looked  across  at  her.  His  pipe  was  removed 
from  his  mouth  for  the  purpose  of  protest.  But  the 
protest  remained  unspoken  in  face  of  the  meaning  he 
beheld  in  the  girl's  brown  eyes.  Instead  he  rose  heavily 
from  his  rocker. 

"  Say,  jest  take  your  time,  Jeff,  boy,"  he  said.  M  Guess 
you'll  need  to  think  hard  before  mornin'.  I  don't  guess 
it's  your  way  to  jump  at  things.  I  ain't  never  see  you 
jump  yet.  Anyway,  when  you're  thinkin',  boy,  it'll  be 
best  to  remember  that  a  woman's  jest  a  woman,  an'  her 
notions  ain't  alius  our  notions." 

Nan  came  over  to  him,  and  he  rested  one  great  arm 
about  her  shoulders,  and  stooped  and  kissed  her. 

"  Good-night,  little  gal,"  he  said.  "  Maybe  Jeff'll  ex- 
cuse me.  An'  maybe  you  ken  tell  him  some  o'  them 
things  that  don't  come  easy  to  me.  So  long,  Jeff.  I'll 
sure  see  you  in  the  mornin'  before  you  quit." 

He  stood  uncertainly  for  a  moment  with  his  arm  upon 
Nan's  shoulders.  He  seemed  to  want  to  say  more,  and 
was  at  a  loss  how  to  say  it.     Finally  he  stuck  his  pipe 


AT  BUD'S  279 

back  into  his  mouth  with  a  savage  thrust  and  lumbered 
heavily  from  the  room. 

Nan  understood.  She  knew  he  was  laboring  under 
profound  emotion,  and  a  feeling  of  self-disgust  at  his  own 
inability  to  help  his  partner  and  friend. 

As  the  door  closed  she  moved  over  to  the  table  and 
leaned  against  it.  Jeff's  back  was  toward  her,  and  his 
face  was  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  window,  across 
which  the  curtains  had  not  yet  been  drawn. 

He  was  leaning  forward,  his  gaze  intent  and  straight 
ahead  out  into  the  black  night  beyond.  His  elbows  were 
on  his  knees,  and  his  hands  were  clasped,  and  hanging 
between  them.  To  the  sympathetic  heart  of  Nan  there 
was  despair  in  every  line  of  his  attitude.  She  nerved 
herself  to  carry  out  her  decisions. 

"  Jeff ! " 

There  was  no  movement  in  response.  But  a  reply 
came.  It  was  in  the  tone  of  a  man  indifferent  to  every- 
thing but  the  thought  teeming  through  his  brain. 

"Well?" 

"  Why  did  you  come  around  here — to-night  ?  " 

The  question  achieved  its  purpose.  The  man  aban- 
doned his  attitude  in  a  movement  of  fierce  resentment. 
He  swung  round  on  the  questioner,  his  eyes  hot  with 
feeling. 

"  Because  I  guess  I  need  to  sleep  somewhere.  Because 
nothing  on  earth  could  make  me  share  roof  with  the 
woman  who's  my  wife.  Gee,  my  wife  !  Say,  Nan,  the 
thought  of  it  nearly  sets  me  crazy." 

"Does  it?  You  didn't  feel  that  way — two  nights 
ago." 

The  man's  eyes  met  the  girl's  incredulously. 


28o  THE  FORFEIT 

"  How  can  you  talk  that  way  ?"he  demanded  roughly. 
"  I  didn't  know  a  thing  then.  I  thought  she  was  all  she 
seemed.  Maybe  I  was  just  a  blind  fool,  crazy  with  love. 
Anyway — I  hadn't  learned  the  hell  lying  around  her 
heart." 

"  I  s'pose  there  is  hell  lying  around  her  heart?" 

Nan's  words  were  provocative.  Yet  they  were  spoken 
in  such  a  tone  of  simplicity  as  to  rob  them  of  all  apparent 
intent. 

Jeff  was  in  no  mood  for  patience.  Swift  resentment 
followed  upon  his  incredulous  stare. 

"  Do  you  need  me  to  give  it  you  all  again  ?  "  he  cried 
fiercely.  "  It  don't  need  savvee  to  grip  things."  Then 
his  voice  rose.  "  And  to  think  those  dollars  have  fed  her, 
and  clothed  her,  a  body  as  fair  as  an  angel's,  and  a  heart 
as  foul  as  hell."  Then  his  tone  dropped  as  if  he  were 
afraid  of  the  sound  of  his  own  voice.  "  Say,  thank  God  I 
kept  my  hands  off  her.     If  she'd  been  a  man " 

He  left  his  sentence  unfinished.  In  her  mind  Nan 
completed  it.     But  aloud  she  gave  it  another  ending. 

"  If  she'd  been  a  man  I  don't  guess  she'd  have  been 
there  to  have  you  lay  hands  on  her." 

There  was  a  new  note  in  the  girl's  tones.  But  it 
passed  Jeff  by. 

"  No,"  he  said  with  almost  foolish  seriousness. 

"  Say,  Jeff,"  the  girl  went  on  gently,  a  moment  later, 
"  aren't  you  acting  a  teeny  bit  crazy  over  this  ?  I  mean 
talking  of  souls  foul  as  hell.  And — an'  not  sharing  the 
same  roof  with  the  woman  you've  sworn  to  love,  and — 
and  cherish  as  long  as  you  both  live.  She  hasn't  done  a 
thing  wrong  by  you  since  you  said — an'  meant  that. 
She  hasn't  done  a  thing  wrong  anyway." 


AT  BUD'S  281 

The  denial  was  so  gentle  yet  so  decided.  Had  there 
been  heat  in  it  it  must  have  been  ineffective.  As  it  was 
Jaff  stared  incredulously  and  speechless,  and  the  girl 
went  on  : 

"  You  think  I'm  wrong,"  she  said.  "  Maybe  you 
think  I'm  crazy,  same  as  I  guess  this  thing's  made  you 
feel,"  She  shook  her  head.  "  I'm  not — sure.  Take 
us  here.  Maybe  I'm  chasing  around  through  the  hills. 
Chance  runs  me  plumb  into  the  camp  of  these  rustlers 
who're  cutting  into  your  profits  on  the  Obar.  I  come 
right  in  and  hand  you  the  story.  You  and  Bud  round 
up  a  bunch  of  boys  and  I  take  you  to  where  the  camp's 
hidden.  You  hold  'em  up,  and  you  hang  them.  Well, 
I  guess  the  pleasantest  moment  of  that  racket  for  you 
would  be  to  get  back  to  home  and  hand  me  a  bunch 
of  dollars.  Say,  I  can  see  you  doing  it.  I  can  see 
your  smile.  I  can  hear  you  sayin' :  '  Take  'em,  little 
Nan,  an'  buy  yourself  some  swell  fixing.'  And  say,  Jeff, 
I  wouldn't  have  done  a  thing  less  than  your  Evie's  done. 
That's  how  I'd  say  now,  acting  as  you  are,  you  aren't 
the  '  Honest  Jeff'  I've  always  known.  You're  not  fair  to 
Evie,  you  aren't  just — before  God." 

The  man  made  a  gesture  of  fierce  impatience.  He 
seemed  on  the  verge  of  a  furious  outburst.  But  the 
steady  light  of  Nan's  eyes  was  upon  him.  For  some 
moments  he  gazed  into  their  sweet  depths,  and  their 
courage,  their  steadfastness,  seemed  to  abash  him.  He 
flung  out  his  arms  in  a  helpless  gesture  of  appeal. 

"  Nan,  Nan ! "  he  cried,  in  a  voice  of  hopelessness. 
"  I  can't  argue  it.  I  just  can't.  I  can't  see  things  right. 
I  sure  nearly  am  crazed.  The  only  thing  I  can  see  is 
the  blood  of  poor  Ronny  on  her — her  hands.     The  hands 


282  THE  FORFEIT 

I've  held  in  mine.  The  hands  I've  kissed.  Oh,  was 
there  ever  so  foul " 

"  Yes,  Jeff,  there  was.     There  is." 

Nan's  voice  was  low  but  thrilling  with  deep  feeling. 
She  moved  forward  from  her  place  at  the  table  with  a 
little  rush.  The  rustle  of  her  skirts  only  ceased  as  she 
fell  upon  her  knees  at  the  man's  side,  and  her  warm 
brown  hands  clasped  themselves  upon  the  strong  arm 
propped  upon  his  knee. 

"  It's  a  far,  far  fouler  thing,  this  thing  you've  got  fixed 
in  your  mind  to  do.  Oh,  Jeff,  dear,  if  I  could  speak  the 
things  as  I  feel  them.  But  I  can't.  It's  all  inside  me 
mussed  up  and  maybe  foolish.  But,  oh,  I  know  I'm 
right.  I  want  to  tell  you  something,  and  I  don't  just 
know  how." 

Her  eyes  were  gazing  up  into  his,  the  soft  brown  eyes 
of  the  beautiful  soul  within.  She  strove  to  compel  his 
gaze,  but  it  moodily  withheld  its  regard. 

"Jeff,  you'll  kill  poor  Evie.  You'll  break  her  heart 
by  robbing  her  of  all  you've  brought  into  her  life  through 
your  love.  Say,  can't  you  see  it  all  ?  And  you'll  do  it 
for  a  shadow.  Yes,  it's  a  shadow,  an  ugly  shadow,  this 
crazy  thought  of  yours  for  a  brother  who  was  just  a  low- 
down  cattle  rustler,  same  as  these  toughs  you're  making 
a  bid  of  ten  thousand  dollars  to  see  hanged  the  same  as 
he  was.  Think  of  it,  Jeff.  She's  just  a  woman,  weak 
and  helpless,  and  you're  going  to  rob  her  of  all  that 
makes  her  life  worth  while.  Would  you  act  that  way  by 
a  mother,  or — or  a  sister?  And  she's  your  wife,  Jeff, 
who's  given  you  all  a  loving  woman  has  to  give.  I 
could  tell  you  of  the  things  this  means  to  you,  and  the 
schemes  and  plans  you've  sort  of  set  your  heart  on,  but  I 


AT  BUD'S  283 

don't  need  to.  I  just  want  you  to  see  what  you're  doing 
by  her,  and  all  the  time  she's  done  you  no  wrong.  Do 
you  get  that,  dear?  Evie's  never  done  you  a  wrong, 
and  in  return  you're  going  to  do  all  you  know  to  kill  her 
heart  dead." 

"  Done  me  no  wrong  ?  "  There  was  a  desperate  sort 
of  sneer  in  the  words.  They  were  the  words  of  a  man 
who  is  robbed  of  denial  but  still  protests. 

But  Nan  rejected  even  that.  She  swiftly  flung  it  back 
in  her  sense  of  the  injustice  of  it. 

"It's  as  I  said,  Jeff.  Just  as  I  said,"  she  declared 
solemnly.  She  drew  a  deep  breath.  She  was  about  to 
take  a  plunge  which  might  bear  her  she  knew  not 
whither.  "Oh,  I  could  get  mad  with  you  for  that.  I 
could  so,  Jeff.  I  know  the  story  of  it.  You've  told  it 
yourself,  and  I  don't  guess  you've  spared  her  any.  But 
you're  blinding  yourself  because  you're  crazy  to  do  so. 
You're  blinding  yourself  to  all  sense  of  justice  to  defend 
a  wretched  scallawag  who  happened  to  be  your  brother. 
Say,  you're  trying  to  fix  on  your  wife,  the  woman  who 
loves  you,  and  who  you  guess  you  love,  all  the  dirt  you 
should  heap  on  the  worthless  man  who  lived  by  theft,  and 
maybe,  even,  was  a  murderer.  Say,  don't  speak.  Not 
just  a  single  word.  Guess  you  can  say  all  you  need 
when  I'm  through,"  she  cried,  as  the  man,  with  eyes 
ablaze,  sought  to  break  in.  "When  I'm  through  I'll 
listen.  Say,  bring  this  right  home  here.  We're  being 
robbed  by  cattle  thieves.  I  don't  guess  they're  better  or 
worse  than  your  brother.  What  if  he'd  been  one  of  this 
gang?  If  you'd  got  this  gang,  with  him  in  it?  Would 
you've  let  him  go  and  hanged  the  others?  Tell  me. 
Tell  me  right  here  and  now." 


284  THE  FORFEIT 

The  man  sprang  from  his  seat.  He  moved  away  to 
the  window. 

"  You're  talking  foolish,"  he  flung  over  his  shoulder. 
"  It's  not  the  position.  My  brother's  deserts  aren't  in 
question.  It's  Evie's  act.  My  wife's  act.  You're  a 
woman  and  defend  her.  How  could  you  be  expected  to 
see  a  man's  point  of   view?" 

"  There  can  be  no  man's  point  of  view  in  it,"  Nan  cried 
warmly.  "  I  guess  there's  just  one  point.  The  point  of 
right  and  justice.  In  justice  she's  not  done  a  thing  to 
make  you  act  this  way.  For  your  sake,  for  hers,  for  the 
sake  of  justice  you'll  have  to  go  back  to  her." 

The  man  swung  round. 

"You'd  have  me  go  back  to  her?"  he  cried  in  fierce 
derision.  "  Say,  you're  crazy !  Go  back  to  her  feeling 
as  I  do?" 

"  Feeling  as  you've  no  right  to  feel,"  Nan  retorted 
swiftly.  Then  in  a  flash  her  voice  changed,  dropping  to 
a  note  of  deep  tenderness  and  sympathy.  "Say,  Jeff, 
won't  you  go  back  ?  Won't  you  ?"  she  pleaded.  "  Think 
of  all  it  means  to  her,  to  you.  Think  of  a  poor  woman 
driven  to  the  depths  of  despair  for  a  shadow  you've 
nursed  in  your  brain  these  years.  That's  what  it  comes 
to.  I  know.  Oh,  Jeff,  as  sure  as  ther's  just  a  great  big 
God  above  us  you'll  pay  for  it  if  you  don't.  You  surely 
will." 

The  man  shifted  his  gaze.  The  lids  of  his  eyes  drooped 
and  hid  from  the  waiting  girl  all  that  passionate  feeling 
he  had  not  hesitated  to  display.  She  wondered  as  she 
waited.     She  was  fearful,  too. 

In  the  man  every  sort  of  emotion  was  surging  through 
him  in  a  chaotic  tangle.     Nothing  seemed  clear ;  anger, 


AT  BUD'S  285 

revolting,  even  hatred,  all  fought  for  place.  And  through 
it  all  the  pleading  tones  of  the  girl  would  not  be  denied0 

After  a  moment  he  suddenly  flung  out  his  arms. 

"  I — I  just  can't,  Nan  1 "  he  cried  desperately. 

A  wave  of  relief  swept  through  Nan's  heart.  He  was 
yielding,  and  she  knew  it.  His  manner  had  completely 
and  abruptly  changed.  She  drew  nearer  to  him.  Every 
honest  art  of  persuasion  was  in  her  tender  manner. 
All  self  was  forgotten  in  that  moment  of  spiritual  pur- 
pose. 

"  But  you  can — if  you  will,"  she  said,  her  brown  eyes 
uplifted  to  his.  "  There  isn't  a  thing  you  can't  do — and 
you  will.  And  this  is  so  small,  Jeff.  So  small.  Just 
think  of  that  great  big  God  somewhere  up  above  wait- 
ing, waiting  to  help  you.  He's  always  waiting  to  help 
us — any  of  us.  Ask  Him.  Ask  His  help.  He'll  give  it 
you.  He  surely  will.  And  He  can  clear  away  all  this 
dreadful  feeling.  It'll  pass  right  away  easy.  I  know. 
He's  done  things  for  me.  You  just  can't  guess  how 
much.  Say,  Jeff,  and  when  He's  fixed  you  right,  feeling 
that  way,  He'll  show  you,  and  tell  you  more.  He'll  show 
you  that  Evie's  act  was  not  hers,  but — His.  It  was  just 
His  way  of  bringing  Ronny's  punishment  back  to  you. 
You  see,  Jeff,  Ronny  was  part  of  you.  You  said  so. 
And  oh,  He's  wiser  than  you  an'  me.  And  He  figures 
this  thing  is  best  so.  It's  a  little  Cross,  such  a  teeny  one, 
He's  set  you  to  bear,  and  if  you're  the  man  I  know  and 
believe  in,  why,  you'll  just  carry  it  without  a  squeal. 
Then  later  you'll  understand,  and — you'll  be  real  glad 
for  it.  Will  you — will  you  go  back  to  her — to-morrow, 
Jeff?" 

Nan   waited   almost  breathlessly.     She  was  watching 


286  THE  FORFEIT 

him  with  a  gaze  that  searched  every  detail  of  his  face. 
She  saw  the  strong  veins  at  his  temples  standing  out,  the 
usually  clear  eyes  stained  and  bloodshot.  She  saw  him 
raise  one  hand  wearily  to  his  forehead,  and  pass  it  back 
over  his  hair.  She  knew  the  movement  so  well.  The 
sight  of  it  thrilled  her.  There  was  little  about  him  she 
did  not  know  and  understand. 

"  You've  made  it  seem  I'll  have  to,  Nan,"  he  said  with 
desperate  reluctance. 

For  a  moment  a  strange  feeling  of  weakness  came  over 
the  girl.     But  she  resolutely  thrust  it  aside. 

"It's  not  me,  Jeff,"  she  disclaimed.  "You  know  it's 
not  me.     And  you'll — promise  ?  " 

He  nodded. 

11  I'll  go  back  to  her,  because — of  you." 

A  curious  look  of  fear  crept  into  the  girl's  eyes. 

"  You'll  go  back,  because — of  her,"  she  persisted. 

The  man  shook  his  head. 

"  Anyway — I'll  go  back." 

The  words  were  roughly  spoken.  But  Nan  accepted 
them.  It  was  all  she  could  hope  for.  And — well,  she 
had  done  her  best. 

She  sighed  deeply.  She  glanced  about  her.  For  a 
moment  they  dwelt  upon  the  man  who  was  denied  her. 
The  man  in  whom  she  saw  all  that  could  ever  make  life 
worth  while. 

"Good-night,  Jeff." 

Her  voice  was  very  low  and  soft. 

"  Good-night,  Nan."  Then  with  a  sudden  outburst,  as 
forceful  as  it  was  spontaneous  :  "  God,  if  the  world  were 
only  made  up  of  women  like  you ! " 

But  the  door  had  closed.     And  as  Nan  crept  to  her 


AT  BUD'S  287 

bedroom,  unrestrained  tears  coursed  down  her  soft 
cheeks.  The  full  force  of  the  irony  of  it  all  was  too  great 
for  her.  He  was  going  back  to  Elvine,  and — she  had 
sent  him. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  BARRIER 

JEFF  was  abroad  at  daylight.  Even  Bud,  whose  habit 
was  sunrise,  had  not  yet  wakened  from  his  heavy  slum- 
bers. But  Nan  was  stirring.  She  heard  Jeff  moving, 
and  she  saw  him  beyond  her  window.  She  saw  him 
bring  his  horse  from  the  barn,  saddled  and  bridled.  In  a 
moment  he  had  mounted  and  ridden  away.  Then  she 
dressed,  and,  for  the  rest,  wondered  at  the  possible  out- 
come of  it  all.  Half  an  hour  later  the  sun  rose  and  the 
day's  work  began. 

When  Jeff  reached  his  home  it  was  still  wrapped  in  the 
habit  of  night.  There  was  no  one  and  nothing  stirring, 
for,  as  yet,  only  the  golden  glow  of  the  eastern  sky  prom- 
ised the  coming  of  day. 

His  mood  was  bitter.  But  his  purpose  was  calculated 
and  deliberate.  He  had  given  his  promise  in  answer  to 
Nan's  irresistible  pleading.  But  otherwise  the  man  was 
completely  unchanged.  He  moved  away  down  to  the 
corrals,  and  leaned  against  the  great  lateral  rails  which 
closed  the  entrance.  The  beasts  within  wrere  chewing 
the  cud,  and  still  picking  at  the  remains  of  their  over- 
night feed. 

They  were  a  goodly  sight  to  eyes  that  understood  the 
meaning  of  such  things.  It  was  only  one  of  a  number  of 
corrals  similarly  crowded  with  beasts,  that  were,  for  vari- 
ous reasons,  herded  in  shelter  at  night.     These  were  a 


THE  BARRIER  289 

few,  a  very  few  of  the  vast  numbers  which  bore  the  fa- 
miliar "  O — "  brand.  There  were  the  outlying  stations 
which  harbored  their  hundreds.  There  were  the  pastures 
with  their  complement  of  breeding  cows.  Then  there 
were  the  herds  of  two-  and  three-year-olds  roaming  the 
plains  at  their  will,  fattening  for  the  buyers  who  came  at 
intervals. 

Thoughts  of  these  things  compelled  Jeff  now.  And  he 
saw  what  Nan  had  saved  him  from.  Wreck  had  been 
threatening  in  the  course  he  had  marked  out  for  himself 
at  first.  How  could  prosperity  have  maintained  under 
the  conditions  he  would  have  imposed  ?  Even  now, 
under  the  modification  which  Nan  had  appealed  for,  he 
failed  to  see  the  continuation  of  that  success  he  had 
striven  so  hard  for.  The  incentive  was  no  longer  in  him, 
he  told  himself.  Where  lay  the  use,  the  purpose  in  it  all  ? 
The  future  ?  That  dream  future  which  had  come  to  him 
could  never  mature  now.  It  was  no  longer  a  dream.  It 
was  nightmare. 

He  wondered  why  he  had  yielded  to  Nan's  entreaty. 
It  all  seemed  so  purposeless  now  in  the  broad  light  of 
day.  He  could  force  himself  to  live  with  his  wife — under 
the  same  roof.  Perhaps  in  time  he  could  even  meet  her 
in  daily  intercourse.  She  might  even  become  a  factor  in 
the  great  work  of  the  Obar.  But  the  joy  of  achievement 
had  been  snatched  from  him.  All  that  he  had  foreseen 
might  be  achieved  in  the  work,  even.  But  the  process 
would  have  been  completely  robbed  of  its  inspiration,  and 
was  therefore  not  to  be  counted  worth  while. 

The  thought  of  the  woman's  regard  for  him  left  him 
cold.  He  dwelt  upon  it.  Suddenly  he  wondered.  Two 
days  ago  he  could  not  have  thought  of  it  without  a  thrill. 


290  THE  FORFEIT 

Now  it  meant — nothing.  He  remembered  Nan's  appeal 
Why — why  had  it  affected  him  last  night?  It  had  not 
been  because  of — Evie. 

Nan  had  talked  of  justice — duty.  He  could  see  no 
appeal  in  either  now.  Why  should  he  be  forced  to 
observance  of  the  laws  of  justice,  or — duty  toward  a 
woman  who ? 

He  stirred  restlessly.  His  attention  was  drawn  to  his 
horse.  He  moved  over  to  it  and  off-saddled.  Then  he 
returned  to  his  place  at  the  corral.  The  sun  was  just 
breaking  the  horizon.  He  heard  sounds  of  life  coming 
from  the  bunkhouse. 

Nan's  appeal  no  longer  convinced  him — now  that  he 
was  away  from  her.  But — he  had  pledged  his  word.  He 
could  not  break  his  word  to  Nan,  although  he  longed — 
madly  longed  to  resaddle  his  horse  and  ride  away,  and 
leave  behind  him  forever  this  place  which  had  suddenly 
become  so  full  of  bitter  memories.  No — he  had  pledged 
his  word. 

Soon  he  must  once  more  confront  his  wife.  He  re- 
viewed the  possibilities.  The  night  long  he  had  spent  in 
considering  the  position  he  intended  to  place  before  her. 
Would  she  accept  it?  And — what  then  ?  The  long  days 
of  work,  unlit  by  any  hope  of  the  future.  The  process  of 
building,  building,  which  all  men  desire,  without  that 
spark  of  delight  which  inspires  the  desire.  Just  the 
drudgery  of  it.  The  resulting  wealth  and  commercial 
power  of  it  maybe,  but  not  one  moment  of  the  joy  with 
which  only  two  days  before  he  had  regarded  the  broad 
vista  of  the  future. 

Now  the  smell  of  cooking  reached  him  from  the  bunk- 
house.     Several    men   were    moving   down   toward  the 


THE  BARRIER  291 

corrals.  He  passed  on  toward  the  house.  A  moment  or 
so  later  he  stood  on  the  veranda  gazing  out  at  the  stream- 
ing cattle  as  they  moved  toward  the  wide  home  pastures, 
under  the  practised  hands  of  the  ranchmen.  It  was  a 
sight  to  inspire  any  cattleman,  and,  for  a  moment,  the 
brooding  eyes  of  the  master  of  it  all  lit  with  a  flash  of 
their  former  appreciation.  But  the  change  was  fleeting. 
The  blue  depths  clouded  again.  The  question  once  more 
flashed  through  his  brain — what — what  was  the  use  of 
it  all  ? 

None,  none  at  all.  Every  dream  had  been  swept  from 
his  waking  thoughts.  Every  enchanting  emotion  was 
completely  dead.  The  woman  who  had  inspired  the 
rose-tinted  glasses  through  which  he  had  gazed  upon  the 
future  no  longer  had  power  so  to  inspire  him.  By  her  own 
action  she  had  taken  herself  out  of  his  life.  She  could 
never  again  become  a  part  of  it.  He  would  live  on  with 
her,  under  the  same  roof,  a  mockery  of  the  life  which  their 
marriage  imposed  upon  them.  He  had  pledged  that  to 
Nan,  and  he  would  not  break  his  word  to — Nan.  But 
love?  His  love  was  gone.  It  was  dead.  And  he  knew 
that  the  ashes  of  that  once  passionate  fire  could  never 
be  stirred  into  being  again. 

There  was  a  rustle  of  skirts  behind  him.  He  heard, 
but  did  not  turn.  A  fierce  passion  was  rising  to  his 
brain,  and  he  dared  not  turn  until  he  had  forced  it  under 
restraint. 

"  You  have  come  back,  Jeff  ?  " 

The  voice  was  low  and  soft.  There  was  something 
tragically  humble  in  its  tone. 

The  man  turned. 

"  Yes,  Evie."     Then  he  added  :    "  I  told  you  I  would." 


292  THE  FORFEIT 

His  voice  was  gentler  than  he  knew.  The  harshness 
of  their  previous  meeting  had  gone  out  of  it.  Nor  was 
he  aware  of  the  change,  nor  of  the  reason,  although  in 
his  mind  was  the  memory  of  his  promise  to  Nan. 

"And  you'll  tell  me  your  decision — now?" 

The  humility  was  heart-breaking.  Nor  was  the  man 
unaffected  by  it.  He  looked  into  the  beautiful  face,  for 
the  dark  eyes  were  averted.  Then  his  gaze  dropped  to 
the  charming  figure  daintily  clad  in  a  simple  morning 
frock  of  subtle  attraction.  But  his  eyes  came  back  to  the 
face  with  its  crowning  of  beautiful  dark  hair,  nor  was 
there  any  change  in  their  expression  as  a  result  of  their 
survey. 

"  As  well  now  as  later." 

"What  is  it?" 

For  the  first  time  Jeff  found  himself  gazing  into  the 
wide  dark  eyes.  There  was  pain  in  them.  Apprehen- 
sion. There  were  the  signs  about  them  of  long  sleepless 
nights.  He  shut  the  sight  of  these  things  out  by  the 
process  of  turning  away  to  observe  the  general  movement 
going  on  in  the  near  distance. 

"  Guess  there's  no  use  to  say  a  deal,"  he  said,  a  curi- 
ously moody  note  taking  possession  of  his  voice.  "  If  I 
did,  why,  I'd  likely  say  a  whole  heap  more  than  a  man 
may  say  to  his  wife.  Guess  the  right  an'  wrong  of  things 
had  best  lie  in  our  hearts.  You  know  just  what  you  did, 
and  why  you  did  it.  I  know  what  you  did,  an'  can  only 
guess  why  you  did  it.  I  don't  figger  any  talk  could  con- 
vince either  of  us  different  to  how  we  think  and  feel. 
Maybe  there's  Someone  knows  the  rights  of  this  thing 
better  than  either  of  us.  That  being  so,  I  allow  He'll 
ultimately  fix  things  as  He  intends.     Meanwhile  it's  for 


THE  BARRIER  293 

us  to  do  as  we  feel,  just  so  far  as  our  personal  earthly  con- 
cerns go." 

The  coldness  in  his  voice  had  grown,  and  it  left  Evie 
with  a  complete  sense  of  hopelessness  that  was  harder  to 
bear  than  any  fears  which  violence  of  language  might 
have  inspired. 

His  pause  was  prolonged.  She  made  no  effort  to 
break  it,  she  dared  not  break  it.  For  the  man,  he  was 
gathering  the  threads  of  what  he  had  to  say  so  as  to  de- 
liver it  concretely.  He  feared  to  prolong  this  interview. 
In  view  of  his  decision  he  must  not  risk  any  violent  out- 
break such  as  his  feelings  were  even  now  striving  to  force 
upon  him. 

"  Maybe  you'll  remember  what  I  said  to  you  about 
Ronny  just  after  we  were — married.  I  don't  guess  you'll 
have  forgotten,  seeing  things  are  as  they  are.  What  I 
said  then  stands  now.  If  you'd  been  a  man  I'd  have 
shot  you  down  in  your  tracks  when  I  got  to  home  last 
night.  That  should  say  all  that  need  be  said  about  how 
I'm  feeling  now.  You  aren't  a  man,  and  you're  my  wife. 
Well — you're  still  my  wife.  That  means  it's  up  to  me  to 
keep  you  as  though  this  thing  hadn't  broken  things  up. 
I  intend  to  act  as  right  as  I  can  by  you.  This  is  your 
home.  You  must  use  it,  if  you  feel  that  way.  The  Obar 
has  to  go  on.  It's  your  means  of  living.  It's  my  means 
of  living.  Then  there  are  others  concerned  in  it.  For 
these  reasons  I  shall  carry  on  things,  and  your  knowl- 
edge of  this  sort  of  work  should  hand  you  a  reasonable 
share  in  the  running  of  this  place.  If  you  feel  you  can 
act  this  way,  without  remembering  we're  man  and  wife, 
why,  I  guess  we  can  agree  to  live  our — separate — lives 
under  the  same  roof.     If  you  don't  feel  you  can  do  this, 


294  THE  FORFEIT 

why,  you  need  to  say  so  right  here  an*  now,  an*  state 
your  wishes.  I'll  do  my  best  to  carry  them  through, 
provided  you  understand  our  lives  are  separate  from  now 
on.     Do  you  get  that  ?  " 

Did  she  get  it  ?  Could  there  be  any  mistaking  those 
cold  tones,  that  ruthless  decision  ? 

From  slightly  behind  him  Elvine  had  stood  watching 
with  straining  eyes  the  still  figure,  speaking  with  so  obvi- 
ous a  repression  of  feeling,  his  eyes  steadily  fixed  upon 
the  distant  horizon.  Once  or  twice  an  ominous  flush 
had  suddenly  flamed  up  in  her  eyes.  A  deep  flush  had 
stained  her  cheeks.  But  as  he  ceased  speaking  the  same 
shrinking,  the  same  humility  marked  her  attitude.  She 
knew  instinctively  she  dared  not  say  the  things  she  was 
yearning  to  pour  out.  She  knew  instinctively  that  any 
such  course  would  at  once  break  down  that  thin  veneer 
of  restraint  he  was  exercising.  And  for  perhaps  the  first 
time  in  her  life  she  stood  awed  and  cowed  by  a  man. 

But  this  woman  was  the  slave  of  her  passions,  and  she 
knew  it.  It  was  this  now  that  made  a  coward  of  her. 
With  all  the  power  of  self  in  her  she  had  abandoned  her- 
self to  her  love  for  her  husband.  And,  with  slavish  sub- 
mission, she  was  prepared  to  accept  his  words  rather 
than  banish  herself  out  of  his  presence  altogether.  A 
mad,  wild  hope  lay  somewhere  deep  down  in  her  heart 
that  some  day  he  could  be  made  to  forget.  That  some 
day,  through  what  looked  to  her  like  endless  days  of 
devotion  and  help,  she  might  win  back  something  of 
what  she  had  lost.  She  knew  her  own  attraction.  She 
knew  her  own  powers.  Might  there  not  then  be  hope  in 
the  dim  future  ? 

She  had  no  pride   where  Jeff   was   concerned.     She 


THE  BARRIER  295 

wanted  him.  His  love  was  all  life  to  her  now.  If  she 
had  followed  the  natural  course  which  should  have  been 
hers  and  refused  his  proposal,  she  would  have  been  closing 
the  door,  finally,  upon  all  that  made  life  possible.  If  she 
submitted  there  still  remained  to  her  the  vaguest  possible 
shadow  of  hope.  This  was  her  thought  and  motive  in 
the  crisis  with  which  she  was  faced,  and  her  calculations 
were  made  out  of  her  yearning,  and  without  true  under- 
standing of  the  man  with  whom  she  was  dealing. 

Jeff  awaited  her  decision  under  an  enforced  calm. 

"It's  for  you  to  say,"  she  said,  after  some  moments. 
"  Nor  is  the  choice  mine.  I  shall  obey.  You've  said  I 
can  help  in  the  work.  Maybe  it's  my  right.  I'll  claim 
that  right  anyway.  It's  the  only  right  I'll  claim.  I've 
only  one  other  thing  to  say,  and  maybe  you'll  let  me 
speak  it  this  once." 

"  Go  on." 

"  I  didn't  guess  I  was  doing  wrong.  I  don't  know 
now  I  did  wrong.  Anyway,  if  what  I  did  was  wrong  it's 
against  God's  laws  and  not  man's.  Maybe  you've  a 
right  to  punish  me.  I  don't  know.  Anyway,  my  life 
and  interests  are  bound  to  yours,  and  I  want  you  to  know 
every  effort  of  mine  will  be  to  further — your  interests. 
This  has  made  no  change  in  me — that  way.  You  can 
trust  me  as  you'd  trust  yourself.  I'm  not  here  to  squeal 
for  any  mercy  from  you,  Jeff.  And  maybe  some  day 
you'll — understand.  I  guess  your  breakfast's  ready.  I'll 
have  mine  later." 

•  •••••• 

Later  in  the  day  Elvine  rode  out  from  the  ranch  house. 
Nor  did  she  concern  herself  with  her  object,  nor  her 
course,  beyond  a  wild  desire  for  the  solitude  of  the  hills. 


296  THE  FORFEIT 

The  full  torture  of  the  new  life,  on  the  threshold  of  which 
she  now  stood,  had  not  come  upon  her  until  after  the 
effects  of  her  interview  with  her  husband  had  had  time 
to  calm  down.  Then  to  remain  in  the  house,  which  had 
become  a  sort  of  prison  to  her,  was  made  impossible. 
She  must  get  out.  She  must  break  into  activity.  She 
felt  that  occupation  alone  could  save  her  reason. 

So  she  struck  out  for  the  hills.  Their  claim  of  earlier 
days  was  upon  her.  The  hills,  and  their  wooded  valleys. 
Their  brooding  calm,  their  dark  shadows,  their  mysterious 
silence.     These  things  claimed  her  mood. 

She  rode  recklessly  across  the  wide  spread  of  Rainbow 
Hill  Valley.  She  had  no  thought  for  the  horse  under 
her.  She  would  have  welcomed  the  pitfalls  which  might 
have  robbed  her  of  the  dreadful  consciousness  of  the 
disaster  which  had  overwhelmed  her.  She  was  striving 
to  flee  from  thoughts  from  which  she  knew  there  was  no 
escape.  She  was  striving  to  lose  herself  in  the  activities 
of  the  moment. 

The  switchback  of  the  plain  rose  and  fell  under  her 
horse's  busy  hoofs.  It  rose  higher,  and  ever  higher, 
as  she  approached  the  western  slopes.  She  left  the 
fenced  pastures  behind  her,  and  the  last  signs  of  the  life 
to  which  she  was  now  committed.  Before  her  the  wood- 
lands rose  up  shrouded  in  their  dark  foliage.  The 
mourning  aspect  of  the  pines  suited  her  temper ;  she  felt 
as  though  their  drooping  boughs  were  in  harmony  with 
the  bereavement  of  her  soul. 

She  plunged  amidst  the  serried  aisles  of  leafless  trunks 
with  something  like  welcome  for  their  shadows.  She 
rode  on  regardless  of  distance  and  direction. 

From  the  crest  of  a  hill  she  looked   down  upon  a 


THE  BARRIER  297 

narrow  mountain  creek  surging  between  borders  of  pale 
green  foliage.  The  sound  of  the  waters  came  up  to  her, 
and  the  wilderness  of  it  all  appealed,  as,  at  that  moment, 
nothing  else  could  have  appealed.  She  pressed  her  blow- 
ing horse  forward,  and  rode  down  to  the  banks  so  densely 
overgrown. 

She  leaped  from  the  saddle.  She  relieved  her  horse  of 
its  saddle  and  flung  herself  upon  the  mossy  ground  in 
the  shelter  of  a  cluster  of  spruce.  The  humid  heat  was 
oppressive.  The  tumbling  waters  were  unable  to  stir  the 
atmosphere.  But  their  music  was  soothing,  and  the  sight 
of  their  turbulent  rush  seemed  to  hold  sympathy  for  her 
troubled  heart.  And  so  she  lay  there,  her  head  propped 
upon  a  supporting  hand,  and  yielded  herself  to  the  sway 
of  her  emotions. 

After  .a  while  tears  dimmed  her  eyes.  They  over- 
flowed down  her  cheeks.  She  had  reached  the  end  of 
endurance  before  yielding  to  her  woman's  pitiful  weak- 
ness. Time  had  no  meaning  now.  Place  had  lost  its 
influence.  She  saw  nothing,  knew  nothing  but  the  trouble 
which  had  robbed  her  of  all  she  lived  for. 

Then  came  the  inevitable.  Her  tears  eventually  re- 
laxed the  tension  of  her  nerves,  and,  after  several  in- 
effectual attempts  to  keep  them  open,  the  weight  of  the 
atmosphere  closed  her  eyes  and  yielded  her  the  final 
mercy  of  sleep. 

•  •••••• 

Elvine  awoke  with  a  start.  She  awoke  with  the  con- 
viction of  the  presence  of  the  man  she  had  met  in  the 
hill  regions  before.  She  knew  some  one  was  near  her, 
but,  for  the  moment 

Yes.     She  sat  up.     A  pair  of  brown  eyes  were  gazing 


298  THE  FORFEIT 

down  into  hers.  Then  came  the  voice,  and  it  was  low, 
and  gentle.     It  had  nothing  startling  in  it. 

"  Why,  say,  an'  I've  been  hunting  your  trail  this  hour, 
taking  you  for — some  one  else." 

Nan  had  been  standing  with  her  arm  linked  through 
her  horse's  reins.  Now  she  relinquished  them,  and  flung 
herself  upon  the  ground  before  the  startled  woman. 

Elvine  stared  at  her  with  unease  in  her  dark  eyes. 
Nor  did  she  gain  reassurance  from  the  pretty  face  with 
its  soft  brown  hair,  and  the  graceful  figure  beneath  its 
brown  cloth  riding  suit.  Yet  she  was  not  insensible  to 
the  companionship.  Her  greater  fears  had  been  of  the 
man,  Sikkem,  who  had  been  in  her  waking  thoughts. 

"You  were  following  my  tracks?"  she  demanded  un- 
certainly. 

Nan's  eyes  grew  grave. 

"  I  certainly  was.  Though  I  didn't  guess  they  were 
yours.  Say,  you  must  have  crossed  the  tracks  I  was 
following,"  she  added  thoughtfully.  "  Did  you  see  any- 
body ?  Four  fellers  ?  Mighty  tough-looking  citizens, 
an'  strangers  ?  " 

The  frankness  of  the  girl  reestablished  confidence. 
Elvine  sat  up. 

M  No,"  she  said.  Then  the  wonder  of  it  possessed  her. 
"  But  you — you  alone  were  following  on  the  tracks  of 
four  tough  strangers  ?  "  she  cried  incredulously. 

Nan  smiled.  Her  smile  was  pretty.  It  was  a  confident, 
wiee  little  smile. 

"  Sure,"  she  said.  "  I  saw  them,  and  it  was  up  to  me. 
You  see,  Evie,  we  folks  out  here  kind  of  need  to  think 
diff'rent.  A  girl  can't  just  help  being  a  girl,  but  when 
rustlers  are  around,  raising  small  Cain  with  her  men-folks' 


THE  BARRIER  299 

goods,  why,  she's  got  to  act  the  way  they  would  when 
they  light  on  a  suspicious  trail.  I  was  guessing  that 
track  would  lead  me  somewhere.  But,"  she  added  with 
a  grimace,  "I  wasn't  as  smart  as  I  figgered.  You  must 
have  crossed  it,  an'  I  lost  'em." 

"  But  can't  you  get  back  to  it  ?  Maybe  I  can  help 
some.  I've  followed  a  trail  before,"  Elvine  added,  in  a 
tone  which  Nan  understood  better  than  the  other  knew. 

But  the  girl  shook  her  head. 

"  My  plug  is  tired,  and  there's  the  chase  back  to  home. 
I  guess  we'll  leave  'em,  and  just — report.  But  there's 
something  doing.  I  mean  something  queer.  These  folk 
don't  reckon  to  show  themselves  in  daytime,  and  I  guess 
they  were  traveling  from  the  direction  of  Spruce  Cross- 
ing." 

"  That's  where  the  man  Sikkem's  stationed,"  said 
Elvine. 

"  Sure.  But  I  don't  guess  they  been  near  his  shanty. 
They  wouldn't  fancy  gettin'  around  Sikkem's  lay-out  in 
daytime.     You  see,  he's — sudden." 

Nan's  confidence  was  not  without  its  effect.  But  Elvine 
was  less  sure. 

"  This  Sikkem.     I  don't  like  him.     But " 

Nan  dismissed  the  matter  in  her  own  way. 

"  Sikkem's  been  on  the  ranch  nigh  three  years.  He's 
a  cattleman  first,  and  hates  rustlers  worse  than  poison. 
But  he's  tough.  Oh,  he's  tough,  all  right.  I  wouldn't 
gamble  a  pea-shuck  he  hasn't  quite  a  dandy  bunch  of 
notches  on  his  gun.     But  we're  used  to  his  sort." 

Then  she  went  on  in  a  reflective  fashion  as  though 
following  out  a  train  of  thought  inspired  by  the  man 
under  discussion : 


3oo 


THE  FORFEIT 


"  Sort  o'  seems  queer  the  way  we  see  things.  Right 
here  on  the  prairie  we  mostly  take  folks  on  trust,  an'  treat 
'em  as  we  find  'em.  Maybe  they're  wanted  for  all  sorts 
of  crimes.  Maybe  they  done  a  turn  in  penitentiary. 
Maybe  they  even  shot  up  folk  cold.  These  things  don't 
signify  a  cent  with  us  so  they  handle  cattle  right,  and  are 
ready  to  push  lead  into  any  bunch  of  rustlers  lyin'  around. 
Guess  it's  environment  makes  us  that  way.  The  prairie's 
so  mighty  wide  it  helps  us  folks  to  get  wide." 

Evie  was  watching  the  play  of  the  girl's  expressive 
eyes. 

"  I  wonder — if  you're  right." 

"  Mostly,  I  guess." 

"Mostly?" 

Nan  nodded. 

"  It  isn't  easy  to  condemn  amongst  folks  on  the  prairie," 
she  said  with  a  sigh. 

Elvine  shook  her  head.  Her  eyes  were  turned  from 
the  girl.  They  were  staring  down  into  the  turbulent 
stream. 

"  I  don't  think  I've  found  it  that  way." 

"How?" 

The  interrogation  was  natural.  But  it  brought  Elvine's 
eyes  sharply  to  the  girl's,  and,  for  a  moment,  they  gazed 
steadily  into  each  other's. 

Then  the  woman's  graceful  shoulders  went  up. 

"  I  see  you  know." 

"And—you  aren't  mad  with  me  for  knowing?  You 
aren't  mad  with  Jeff  for  me  knowing  ?  I  wanted  you  to 
know  I  knew.  I  wanted  to  tell  you  I  knew,  only  I  didn't 
just  know  how  to  tell  you.  Then  I  wanted  to  tell  you— 
something  else." 


THE  BARRIER  301 

There  was  simple  sincerity  in  every  word  the  girl  spoke. 
The  light  in  her  eyes  was  shining  with  truth.  Elvine  saw 
it,  and  knew  these  things  were  so,  and,  in  her  loneliness 
of  heart,  in  her  brokenness  of  spirit,  she  welcomed  the 
chance  of  leaning  for  support  upon  a  soul  so  obviously 
strong  and  sympathetic.  She  yielded  now  as  she  would 
never  have  believed  it  possible  to  yield. 

Suddenly  she  raised  her  hands  to  her  head  and  pressed 
her  fingers  to  her  temples. 

"  Oh,  I — I  don't  know  what  to  do.     I  sort  of  feel  I  just 

can't — can't  stop  around.     And  yet Oh,  I  love  him 

so  I  can't,  daren't  leave  him  altogether.  You  can't  un- 
derstand, child,  no  one  can.  You — oh,  you've  never 
known  what  love  is,  my  dear.  I'm  mad — mad  for  him. 
And — and  I  can  never  come  into  his  life  again." 

She  dropped  her  hands  from  her  head  in  a  movement 
that  to  Nan  seemed  as  though  she  were  wringing  them. 
Nan's  own  heart  was  thumping  in  her  bosom.  She,  too, 
could  have  cried  out.  But  her  eyes  steadily,  and  almost 
tenderly,  regarded  the  woman  who  had  taken  Jeff  from 
her. 

"  You  must  stop  around,"  she  said  in  a  low,  firm  tone. 
"Say,  Evie,  I  don't  guess  I'm  bright,  or  clever,  or  any- 
thing like  that.  I  don't  reckon  I  know  things  different  to 
other  folk.  But  just  think  how  it  would  be  if  you  went 
away  now.  You'd  never  see  Jeff  again,  maybe,  and  he'd 
never  know  just  how  you  love  him.  You  see,  men-folk 
are  so  queer,  too.  Maybe  Jeffs  right,  and  you  and  me 
are  wrong.  Maybe  we're  right,  and  he's  all  wrong.  I 
can't  say.  But  I  tell  you  Jeff  needs  you  now — more  than 
ever.  He  don't  know  it,  maybe.  But  he  wants  you,  and 
if  you  love  him  you'll  just — stand  by.     Oh,  I  could  tell 


302  THE  FORFEIT 

you  of  a  thousand  ways  you  can  help  him.  A  thousand 
ways  you  can  show  him  your  love  without  telling  him. 
It  means  a  hard  fight  for  you.  I  know.  And  maybe 
you'll  think  he  isn't  worth  it.  But  he  is — to  you.  You 
love  him.  And  any  man  a  woman  loves  is  worth  to  her 
every  sacrifice  she  can  make.  I  don't  know.  Maybe  you 
got  to  be  punished,  not  by  us  folk,  not  for  what  you  done 
to  Jeff.  But  Someone  guesses  you  got  to  be  punished, 
and  this  is  the  way  He's  fixed  it.  Say,  Evie,  you  won't 
let  go  of  things,  will  you  ?  Maybe  you  can't  see  ahead 
just  now.  But  you  will — later.  You  love  Jeff,  and  he 
just  loves  you,  though  he's  sort  of  blind  to  it  now.  But 
he  loves  you,  an'  no  one  else.  He  wouldn't  act  the  way 
he's  doing  if  it  weren't  so.  I  sort  of  felt  I  must  say  all 
this  to  you.  I — I  don't  know  why — just.  But  I  won't 
ever  talk  like  this  again.  I  haven't  a  right,  I  know.  But 
I  don't  mean  harm.  I  don't  sure.  And  if  you'll  let  me 
help  you  anyway  I  can  I'll — be  real  glad." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THREATENINGS 

THE  offer  of  reward  for  the  rustlers  operating  in  Rain- 
bow Hill  Valley  was  without  the  desired  effect.  It  was 
worse.  The  men  against  whom  it  was  directed  received 
it  with  deliberate  but  secretly  expressed  contempt.  Nor 
did  Chance  serve  the  masters  of  the  Obar,  as  four  years 
before  She  had  served  Dug  McFarlane. 

Nor  was  the  failure  due  to  lack  of  effort.  Bud  left  no 
stone  unturned.  And  Jeff — well,  Jeff  did  all  a  man  could. 
The  hills  were  scoured,  and  the  deeps  and  hidden  hollows 
of  the  greater  foothills.  The  notices  of  reward  were  sent 
broadcast,  even  penetrating  to  the  Orrville  country.  They 
were  set  up  as  Jeff  had  promised,  on  tree  trunks  in  the 
remoter  hills  where  any  chance  eye  might  discover  them. 
Where  undoubtedly  the  men  who  constituted  the  gang 
must  sooner  or  later  discover  them. 

The  only  response  was  a  continuation  of  the  raids. 

But  a  distinct  change  had  taken  place  in  the  method  of 
these.  Whereas,  originally,  they  had  been  directed 
against  not  only  the  Obar  Ranch,  but  wherever  oppor- 
tunity offered  in  the  district,  they  now  fastened  their  vam- 
pire clutches  upon  the  Obar  only,  and,  finally,  on  only  one 
section  of  its  territory  :  the  land  which  belonged  to  Jeff's 
side  of  the  partnership. 

So  marked  was  this  that  it  could  not  be  missed. 

The  partners  were  out  at  a  distant  station  where  they 


304 


THE  FORFEIT 


had  been  urgently  summoned.  A  young  "  hand "  had 
been  wounded,  a  nasty  flesh  wound  in  the  arm.  He  had 
been  bringing  in  a  small  bunch  of  steers  which  had  strayed 
to  a  distant  hollow  in  the  hills.  It  had  been  overnight. 
He  was  held  up,  and  shot  by  three  outlaws,  and  his  cattle 
run  off. 

It  was  Bud  who  voiced  the  thought  of  both  partners 
immediately  after  a  close  interrogation  of  the  injured  man. 

"  Looks  like  some  low-bred  son-of-a-hobo  owes  you  a 
reckonin'  he's  yearnin'  to  git  quit  of,  Jeff,"  he  said,  the 
moment  they  were  alone.  "  They're  workin'  this  way  all 
the  time.  They  ain't  so  much  as  smelt  around  the  old 
1  T.T.'  territory  in  days.     D'you  make  it  that  way  ?  " 

Jeff  nodded. 

"  Sure." 

But  he  made  no  attempt  to  throw  enlightenment. 

11  Guess  you  signed  the  reward." 

Bud  watched  the  shadowed  serious  face  of  his  friend. 

"  Maybe  it's  that."  There  was  something  like  indiffer- 
ence in  the  younger  man's  manner. 

Perhaps  it  was  this  manner  which  stirred  Bud's  im- 
patience and  drove  him  to  resentment. 

"Say,"  he  cried,  in  fiercely  vibrant  tones,  "d'you 
know  what  it  is  I  got  in  my  head  ?  It's  the  '  hands  '  on 
our  range.  Sure.  Ther's  some  lousy  guy  on  the  Obar 
working  in  with  the  gang.  Cowpunchers  are  a  mongrel 
lot  anyway.  Ther'  ain't  one  but  'ud  souse  the  sacrament 
wine  ef  the  passon  wa'an't  lookin'  on.  I  guess  we'll  need 
to  chase  up  the  penitentiary  re-cord  of  every  blamed 
thief  on  our  pay-roll.  Maybe  the  cinch  we're  lookin'  fer 
lies  that  way." 

"  It's  curious." 


THREATENINGS  305 

"  Curious  ?     Gee,  it's  rotten  I  " 

The  old  man's  patience  completely  gave  way. 

41  See  right  here,  Jeff.  I  ain't  rattled.  Not  a  thing. 
But  ther's  got  to  be  some  guts  put  into  this  thing,  an' 
you  an'  me's  got  to  find  'em.  See?  I'm  sick  to  death. 
Right  here  an'  now  I  tell  you  ther's  goin'  to  be  a  rotten 
piece  of  trouble  around  this  lay-out,  an'  I'm  goin'  to  be  in 
it — right  up  to  my  back  teeth." 

It  was  perhaps  the  first  time  Bud  had  displayed  im- 
patience with  the  man  who  had  always  been  the  lead- 
ing spirit  of  their  enterprise.  The  truth  was,  something 
seemed  to  have  gone  out  of  Jeff.  He  neglected  nothing. 
He  spared  himself  no  pains.  His  physical  efforts  seemed 
even  to  have  become  greater  as  the  days  passed.  Fre- 
quently, now,  night  as  well  as  day  found  him  in  the 
saddle  watching  over  their  interests.  He  had  become  a 
sort  of  restless  spirit  urging  forward  the  work,  and  watch- 
ing, watching  with  the  lynx  eyes  dreaded  so  much  by  the 
men  who  served  him.  But  for  all  that  something  had 
certainly  gone  out  of  him,  and  Bud  knew  and  feared  its 
going. 

If  Bud  knew  and  feared  the  change,  he  also  knew  the 
cause  of  it.  Neither  he  nor  Nan  were  blind  to  the  drama 
silently  working  out  in  the  other  household.  It  was 
bitterly  plain  and  almost  heart-breaking  to  the  onlookers. 
The  same  roof  sheltered  husband  and  wife.  But  no  un- 
necessary word  was  spoken  between  them.  Their  meals 
were  taken  apart.  They  were  as  completely  and  coldly 
separate  as  though  they  occupied  opposite  poles.  And 
the  girl  who  recognized  these  things,  and  the  man  who 
watched  them,  only  wondered  how  long  it  must  be  before 
the  final  disaster  came  upon  them. 


3o6  THE  FORFEIT 

Jeff's  moods  had  become  extraordinarily  variable. 
There  were  moments  when  his  moroseness  became 
threatening.  The  canker  at  his  heart  was  communicat- 
ing itself  to  his  whole  outlook,  and  herein  lay  the  failure 
in  his  work. 

It  was  the  realization  of  all  this  which  stirred  Bud's 
impatience.  He  knew  that  unless  a  radical  change  was 
quickly  brought  about,  the  vaunted  Obar  had  certainly 
reached  and  probably  passed  its  zenith. 

Finally,  he  opened  his  heart  to  the  sure  sympathy  of 
Nan.  He  had  purposely  taken  her  with  him  on  a  bound- 
ary inspection  amongst  the  foothills.  They  were  riding 
through  a  silent  hollow  where  quiet  seemed  to  lie  on  the 
top  of  everything.  Even  their  horses'  hoofs  failed  to 
make  an  impression  upon  it.  Peace  was  crowding  the 
woodland  slopes,  a  peace  profound  and  unbreakable. 

"  The  Obar's  struck  a  mighty  bad  patch,  Nan,"  he  said 
abruptly.  "  Ef  things  kep  hittin'  their  present  gait,  why, 
I  don't  jest  see  wher'  we're  to  strike  bottom.  The  pinch 
ain't  yet,  but  you  can't  never  kick  out  a  prop  without 
shakin'  the  whole  darned  buildin'  mighty  bad.  An'  that's 
how  the  Obar's  fixed.  Ther's  a  mighty  big  punch  gone 
plumb  out  o'  Jeff's  fight,  an',  well,  I  guess  we're  needin' 
all  our  punch  to  fix  the  things  crowdin'  around  us." 

"  You  mean  the  rustlers  ?  "  Nan  drove  to  the  heart  of 
things  without  hesitation. 

"Sure.     Them  an' — other  things,," 

The  girl  nodded.  She  knew  the  other  things  without 
asking. 

"  Jeff's  in  a  heap  of — trouble,"  she  said  with  a  sigh. 

"  An'  looks  like  carryin'  us  along  with  him — ef  we  ain't 
watchin'  around." 


THREATENINGS  307 

"  We've  always  kind  of  leaned  on  Jeff." 

"  Most  folks  are  ready  to  lean,  Nan.  It  sort  o'  saves 
'em  a  deal  of  trouble." 

"  Yes.     Till  you  kick  the  prop  away." 

"  Sure.  Our  prop's  been  kicked  away,  an'  we've  jest 
got  to  git  right  up  on  to  our  hind  legs  an' — git  busy. 
The  leanin'  racket's  played  out  fer  us.  We  got  to  hand 
Jeff  a  prop  now,  an'  see  it  don't  git  kicked  away.     See?" 

For  some  moments  the  girl's  gaze  searched  straight 
ahead  of  her  down  the  valley.  And  into  her  eyes  there 
grew  a  gentle  light  of  enthusiasm.  Suddenly  she  turned 
upon  the  great  figure  on  its  horse  beside  her. 

"We've  stood  up  on  our  own  years,  Daddy — before 
Jeff  came  along.  We  can  stand  now,  can't  we  ?  I  guess 
we're  not  going  to  fail  Jeff  now  he's  in  trouble.  Jeff's 
been  all  for  us.  We're  going  to  be  all  for  him.  He 
needs  us,  Daddy,  and — I'm  glad  in  a  way.  Say,  my 
heart  nigh  breaks  every  time  I  peek  into  his  poor  sad  an' 
troubled  face.  Jeff's  just  beating  his  soul  dead.  And  if 
the  Obar  gets  wrong,  it'll  sure  be  the  end  of  everything 
for  him.  It  mustn't,  Daddy.  Things  mustn't  go  wrong. 
'Deed  they  mustn't.  It's  up  to  us.  You  must  show  me 
how,  Daddy.  You're  wise  to  it  all.  You're  strong. 
You  know.  Show  me.  Put  me  wise,  an'  I'll — take  Jeff's 
place." 

The  girl's  words  came  full  of  a  passionate  sincerity. 
There  were  no  half  measures  in  this  child  of  the  prairie. 
Her  love  was  given,  a  wealth  of  generous  feeling  and 
loyal  self-sacrifice.  Her  father  read  with  a  rare  under- 
standing. And  in  his  big  heart,  so  rough,  so  warm,  he 
cursed  with  every  forceful  epithet  of  his  vocabulary  the 
folly  of  the  man  he  had  marked  out  for  a  son. 


3o8  THE  FORFEIT 

11  We'll  make  good,  or — bust,"  he  said,  with  a  warmth 
that  almost  matched  the  girl's. 

Then  he  pointed  ahead  where  the  hollow  opened  out, 
and  a  large  clump  of  trees  marked  dividing  ways. 

"I  guessed  you'd  best  see  this.  It's  one  o'  them 
notions  o'  Jeff's.     That  play  ain't  worth  a  cent." 

"Ah!" 

They  rode  up  to  the  bluff  in  silence.  And  after  a 
moment's  search  Bud  drew  rein  before  a  heavy  tree 
trunk,  to  which  was  secured  a  printed  sheet.  He  pointed 
at  it,  and,  for  a  while,  neither  spoke.  Nan  was  taking  in 
the  disfigurements  with  which  it  was  covered,  and  she 
read  the  words  written  across  it  in  bold  but  illiterate 
characters : 

"  We're  wise  to  her.     She  don't  git  no  second  chanst." 

The  rest  of  the  disfigurings  were  mischievous,  and  of 
almost  indecent  character. 

"  Does  Jeff  know  ? "  Nan's  question  was  almost  a 
whisper. 

"  I  ain't  told  him." 

Bud's  reply  was  one  of  doubt 

"  He— he  ought  to  be  told." 

Then  Bud  suddenly  abandoned  the  restraint  he  had 
been  exercising. 

"  Oh !    Ther'  ain't  no  use.     He  can't  do  a  thing. 

He  wouldn't  do  a  thing.  I  tell  you  we're  jest  suckin'- 
kids  in  this  racket.  We  got  to  lie  around  crazy  enough 
to  fancy  we're  goin'  to  git  the  drop  on  these  bums. 
What  a  country !  What  a  cuss  of  a  lay-out  wher'  you 
got  to  set  around  watching  a  darnation  gang  o'  toughs 
whittlin'  away  your  work  till  they  got  you  beat  to  a  mush. 
Here,  I'm  goin'  to  start  right  in.    I'm  goin'  to  get  around 


THREATENINGS  309 

Calthorpe.  The  sheriff's  got  to  git  busy,  an'  earn  his 
monthly  pay  check.  We'll  hev  to  raise  vigilantes.  I 
tell  you  they'll  break  us  else.  Ef  Jeff  can't  see,  why, 
he'll  hev  to  be  made  to.  Blast  their  louse-bound  souls  to 
hell  1 " 

And  Nan  welcomed  the  outburst.  Rough,  coarse, 
violent.  It  did  not  matter.  What  mattered  to  her  was 
the  purpose.  The  purpose  which  she  hoped  and  prayed 
would  help  Jeff.  She  had  no  thought  for  themselves. 
Their  end  of  the  enterprise  never  came  into  her  consider- 
ations. She  was  thinking  of  Jeff.  Solely  of  Jeff — the 
man  she  loved  better  than  her  life. 


The  change  in  Elvine  was  no  less  marked  than  it  was 
in  Jeff.  But  it  was  a  change  in  a  wholly  different  direc- 
tion. She  was  deeply  subdued,  even  submissive  in  her 
attitude.  But  now  after  the  first  crisis  and  its  accompany- 
ing pain,  a  general  relief  was  apparent.  A  relief  which 
anything  but  indicated  the  hopelessness  which  had  at  the 
first  overwhelmed  her.  She  was  not  hopeless.  Therein 
lay  the  key  of  the  matter. 

From  the  time  when  she  had  passed  through  those 
moments  of  frenzied  despair,  after  Jeff's  return  from 
Orrville,  her  decision  had  been  taken  with  lightning 
celerity.  Her  back  was  to  the  wall,  and  she  meant  to 
fight  for  all  she  yearned,  desired,  by  every  art  she  pos- 
sessed. She  knew  nothing  of  the  reason  which  had 
made  her  husband  return  to  her.  It  was  sufficient  that 
he  had  done  so.  It  gave  her  the  vague,  wild  hope  she 
needed,  and  with  all  her  might  she  intended  to  set  herself 
to  the  task  of  winning  back  her  position  in  his  regard. 


3io 


THE  FORFEIT 


She  was  not  logical.  Had  she  been,  she  must  have 
accepted  the  alternative  of  freedom  offered  her,  and,  on  a 
liberal  allowance,  betaken  herself  to  some  selfish,  worldly 
life  which  might  have  appealed  to  her.  No,  she  was  not 
logical.  Had  she  been,  she  would  never  have  loved  this 
man  as  she  now  knew  better  than  ever  she  loved  him. 
She  was  not  logical,  but  she  had  courage.  It  was  the 
same  courage  which  had  driven  her  to  fight  for  that 
which  she  had  desired  years  ago.  She  was  going  to 
fight  now.  And  again  it  was  for  selfish  motives.  Only 
this  time  they  took  the  form  of  the  love  of  the  man  she 
had  married. 

She  set  to  work  from  the  very  start.  Her  attractions 
she  knew  were  great.  Jeff  must  be  made  to  realize  them. 
He  must  be  made  to  realize  all  a  woman  could  mean  in 
this  life  which  was  theirs.  She  would  unobtrusively 
study  his  interests  to  the  last  degree.  His  position  in  the 
ranching  world  would  give  her  ample  scope  in  this. 
Then  there  was  the  work  of  the  ranch.  Here  her  earlier 
experiences  would  help  her  materially. 

So  she  laid  for  herself  a  deliberate  campaign.  Al- 
ways counting  that  his  lightest  command  was  her  law, 
and  nothing  must  be  permitted  to  display  her  de- 
sire to  break  down  the  barrier  he  had  set  up  between 
them. 

Two  days  of  deep  consideration  showed  her  her  course. 
And  once  having  marked  it  out  she  set  about  following  it. 

Her  house  was  her  first  care.  It  must  be  ordered  as 
no  other  house  of  its  kind  was  ordered.  She  thought  of 
every  expressed  wish  of  his  during  their  brief  engage- 
ment and  honeymoon,  and  sorted  it  into  its  place  in  her 
scheme 


THREATENINGS  311 

Then  came  her  place  in  the  work  of  the  range.  This 
was  more  difficult  to  take  at  once  by  reason  of  lack  of 
precedent.  But  by  tactful  watchfulness  she  felt  it  could 
be  accomplished.  Her  first  step  must  be  to  impress  on 
Lai  Hobhouse  her  intention,  and,  in  this,  even  sooner 
than  she  had  dared  to  hope,  she  managed  to  secure  a 
footing.  Once  her  mind  was  set  to  achieve  a  purpose 
her  capacity  was  beyond  all  question,  and  in  these 
troublous  times  of  rustlers  the  foreman  was  more  than 
content  to  welcome  her  aid. 

Throughout  these  days  she  rarely  obtruded  herself 
upon  the  man  she  desired  most  in  the  world.  He  might 
almost  have  been  non-existent.  The  rare  moments  in 
which  he  spoke  to  her  were  met  with  a  cool  reserve  on 
her  part,  which  left  nothing  to  be  desired,  and  gave  no 
opportunity  for  the  reopening  of  those  matters  which  had 
brought  about  the  position.  Indeed,  Elvine  had  more 
than  reason  to  be  satisfied  with  her  work. 

She  felt  at  last  that  the  worst  was  over,  and  now  it  re- 
mained for  her  to  win  back,  step  by  step,  the  lost  ground, 
until  she  had  restored  herself  to  her  position.  It  could  be 
done.  It  should  be  done,  she  told  herself.  She  admitted 
no  crime  against  him.  Then  where  was  the  justice  of  it  ? 
Anyway,  that  fierce  dread  was  off  her  mind.  She  knew 
the  worst  now.  She  no  longer  stood  on  the  brink  of  an 
abyss  of  doubt 

She  was  in  her  bedroom  considering  these  things.  It 
was  a  golden  evening  and  the  setting  sun  was  shining 
athwart  her  windows.  Quite  suddenly  the  simple  sewing 
in  her  fingers  dropped  upon  her  lap,  and  her  startled  eyes 
turned  upon  the  wide  view  of  the  valley  bathed  in  the 
perfect  evening  light. 


3i2  THE  FORFEIT 

Was  she  no  longer  standing  upon  that  brink  ? 

The  question  flashed  through  her  mind  as  she  remem- 
bered an  incident  until  then  completely  lost  in  the  greater 
issues.  It  was  the  threat  of  that  scrawled  note  which  had 
been  flung  in  at  that  very  window.  She  even  remembered 
the  sensation  of  the  blow  which  had  awakened  her  on  the 
night  of  torture  during  which  she  had  waited  for  Jeff's  re- 
turn from  Orrville. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet.  Every  other  thought  was 
swept  from  her  mind.  And,  for  a  moment,  fresh  panic 
stirred  her  veins.  The  words  of  that  message.  They 
were  unforgettable. 

"  You  sold  the  lives  of  men  for  a  price.  You  had 
your  way  then.  We're  goin'  to  have  our  way  now. 
You'll  pay  for  that  deal  the  only  way  we  know." 

The  only  way  we  know  !  Her  memory  flew  to  the  man 
Sikkem.  Oh,  she  knew  him.  She  had  recognized  him 
on  the  instant  of  their  meeting.     She  knew  he  came  from 

Orrville.     She  had  seen  him  there.     But Was  he 

one  of  the  original  Orrville  gang,  all  unsuspected,  or,  at 
least,  if  not  unsuspected,  unknown  to  be  ? 

While  she  pondered  the  subject  she  heard  her  hus- 
band's arrival.  She  heard  him  cross  the  veranda  and 
pass  into  the  house. 

Then  again  she  took  up  the  thread  of  her  thought. 
This  man  Sikkem.  If  he  were  one  of  the  Orrville  gang, 
what  was  more  likely  than  that  he  should  have  sent  that 
threat  ?  If  he  sent  it,  what  more  likely  than  that  he  was 
one  of  the  gang  of  rustlers  operating  here  ?  If  he  were 
one  of  them,  then  what  added  significance  did  it  give  his 
threat? 


THREATENINGS  313 

A  wave  of  sudden  excitement  replaced  the  panic  of  a 
moment  before.  "  The  only  way  we  know."  Did  that 
mean  raiding  her  husband's  stock  and  endeavoring  so  to 
ruin  the  Obar  ?  It  looked  like  it.  It  would  account  for 
what  was  being  done.  But  no.  That  might  be  part  of 
what  was  contained  in  the  threat.  But  not  all.  The  only 
way  we  know  1  The  only  way  this  class  of  man  under- 
stood paying  off  a  score  was  different  from  that.  With 
these  men  it  was  always  a  life  for  a  life.  Whose  ?  Hers  ? 
It  might  be. 

The  sun  had  sunk  beyond  the  mountain  peaks.  In  the 
adjoining  living-room  she  heard  the  clatter  of  supper 
things.  Jeff  was  having  his  meal  in  the  solitude  which 
had  become  their  habit. 

If  it  were  her  life  they  intended  it  would  not  much 
matter.  But  was  it  ?  Would  they  punish  her  that  way  ? 
To  her  it  did  not  suggest  the  refinement  of  cruelty  which 
would  appeal  to  them.  No,  there  were  other  signs. 
Their  purpose  looked  to  be  to  ruin  the  Obar,  and  then — 
what  then  ?  Rob  her  of  the  man  she  loved  ?  It  could  be 
done.  It  would  be  easy,  and  surely  the  refinement  of  it 
would  appeal  to  natures  so  ruthless. 

Her  sewing  had  dropped  to  the  floor.  Mechanically 
she  picked  it  up.  Then  and  there  she  purposed  to  break 
in  upon  her  husband's  meal.  But  she  hesitated,  and  the 
impulse  passed.  Instead,  she  went  to  a  drawer  in  her 
bureau  and  withdrew  the  folded  paper.  She  read  it  over 
and  returned  to  her  seat.  Decision  was  lacking.  Her 
interpretation  of  the  threat  had  taken  strong  hold  upon 
her,  but  she  could  not  decide  what  best  to  do.  Her  fine 
eyes  were  troubled  as  she  gazed  out  into  the  growing 
dusk.     Dared  she  go  to  him  ?    Would  he  listen  ? 


314 


THE  FORFEIT 


But  once  more  her  thoughts  were  diverted.  The  sound 
of  a  great  clatter  of  hoofs  reached  her  from  the  other  side 
of  the  house.  Some  one  had  ridden  up  to  the  veranda  at 
a  great  pace.  Who?  And  what  could  the  urgency  be 
at  such  an  hour? 

She  heard  Jeff  moving  in  the  living-room.  She  heard 
him  pass  out  on  to  the  veranda.  Then  curiosity,  perhaps 
apprehension,  urged  her.  She  passed  to  the  window  be- 
yond her  bureau,  which  was  near  the  angle  of  the  build- 
ing, and  leaned  out  of  it.  Ordinary  tones  on  the  veranda 
would  reach  her  there. 

She  waited,  breathing  lightly  lest  her  hearing  should 
be  impaired.  A  strange  voice  was  talking.  She  could 
not  place  it.  It  was  rough,  and  the  language  was  rough. 
No  doubt  it  was  one  of  the  "  hands  "  from  some  outlying 
point. 

"  They  got  him  through  the  chest,  an'  I  guess  he's 
goin'  to  pass  in.  He  sez  to  me,  *  Ride  like  hell  an'  fetch 
the  boss.  Tell  him  I  got  'em  plumb  wher'  he  wants  'em. 
I  located  their  lay-out.  I  ain't  got  above  an  hour  or  so  to 
tell  him  in.     Just  hike  an'  ride  like ! '  " 

Then  came  Jeff's  voice  cold  and  undisturbed. 

"Where  is  he?" 

"  Why,  by  his  shack  at  Spruce  Crossing.  He  jest 
got  in,  an'  nigh  fell  plumb  in  his  tracks  out  o'  the  saddle. 
I  don't  guess  any  feller  but  Sikkem  could  ha'  done  it. 
He's  tough — mighty  tough." 

Sikkem  !  Elvine  moved  from  the  window.  Sikkem  ! 
Her  heart  was  pounding  in  her  bosom,  and,  for  a  mo- 
ment, her  brain  seemed  in  a  whirl.  Sikkem  had  discov- 
ered the  raiders  and  was  willing  to  give  them  away.  In 
a  flash   she   was  back  in   Orrville,  and   her  mind  was 


THREATENINGS  315 

searching  amongst  shadowy  memories  that  had  suddenly 
become  acute.  Sikkem !  Sikkem !  No.  She  must  see 
Jeff.  She  must  tell  him  of — Sikkem.  She  must  warn  him, 
and  show  him  her  note.  A  sudden,  crushing  foreboding 
descended  upon  her,  and  she  hurried  toward  the  door. 

In  a  few  seconds  she  was  on  the  veranda  confronting 
her  husband.  For  a  moment  her  courage  well-nigh  failed 
her.  Jeff  was  standing  with  his  back  turned  toward  the 
sunset.  The  ranchman  was  no  longer  there.  He  had 
gone  to  the  barn  to  order  a  fresh  saddle  horse  for  the 
master  of  the  Obar.  Apparently  Jefl  had  turned  to  repass 
into  the  house. 

His  fair  strong  face,  serious  and  cold,  was  turned  di- 
rectly upon  the  beautiful  figure  of  his  wife,  and  it  was  the 
coldness  of  it  that  daunted  her  now. 

"Well?" 

The  bitterness  of  that  frigid,  surprised  inquiry  was 
crushing.  Elvine  looked  into  his  eyes  for  one  single 
shadow  of  softening.  She  could  find  none.  It  shocked 
the  hope  she  had  been  steadily  building  in  her  heart. 

She  had  no  words  in  which  to  answer.  She  stood  thus 
for  one  uncertain  moment.  Then  she  thrust  out  her 
hand.     It  contained  the  threatening  message. 

"  Will  you  read  that — at  once  ?  " 

His  cold  regard  dropped  from  her  face.  The  man 
noted  the  dirty  paper  in  her  soft  white  hand.  Then  he 
took  it.     Nor  did  their  hands  come  into  contact. 

"  Is  it  a  matter  of  importance  ?  " 

Elvine  could  have  cried  out  with  the  stab  of  the  ques- 
tion. Only  some  matter  of  vital  importance  justified  her 
action  in  his  eyes.  Her  gaze  was  averted  to  hide  her 
pain. 


3i 6  THE  FORFEIT 

" 1  should  not  have  come  to  you  otherwise." 

The  man  moved  to  the  edge  of  the  veranda  to  obtain 
more  of  the  dying  light.  At  that  moment  the  ranchman 
approached  with  two  saddle  horses.  Elvine  scrutinized 
him  carefully.     He  was  a  complete  stranger  to  her. 

Jeff  had  read  the  note.  He  stood  regarding  the  ranch- 
man.    Suddenly  his  voice  broke  sharply. 

"  Leave  my  horse  at  the  tying  post.  Wait  for  me  at 
the  barn." 

He  watched  the  man  secure  his  horse.  Then  he 
watched  him  return  to  the  barn.  Nor  did  he  speak  again 
till  he  was  out  of  earshot. 

At  last  he  turned  back  to  the  waiting  woman. 

"Who  sent  this?  When  did  you  get  it?  How?" 
The  questions  came  rapidly. 

"  It  came  the  night  you  were  at  Orrville.  It  was  flung 
in  through  the  open  window  late  at  night.  I'd  fallen 
asleep  in  my  chair — waiting.  It  hit  me  on  the  face. 
They'd  made  it  fast  around  a  grass- tuft." 

14  Who  sent  it?" 

"  It  must  have  been  the  man,  Sikkem,  who's  just  sent 
in  word  to  you  he's — shot  up." 

"Sikkem?     Why?" 

Suddenly  the  restraint  Elvine  was  exercising  gave  way. 
Even  her  husband's  deliberate  coldness  was  powerless  to 
stem  the  tide  of  conviction  which  had  steadily  mounted 
up  within  her.  The  one  thought  in  her  mind  was  that 
he  stood  in  danger.  Her  reason  was  slight  enough,  but 
her  love  accentuated  her  intuition.  She  saw  in  her  mind 
the  claiming  of  the  toll  these  men  demanded,  and  to  her 
swift  imagination  the  picture  of  her  husband's  murder 
was  complete  before  her  eyes. 


THREATENINGS  317 

"  Sikkem  comes  from  Orrville.  He  was  there — four 
years  ago.  There  was  more  than  suspicion  attached  to 
him.  My  first  day  here  I  met  him.  Maybe  you'll  re- 
member. He  knew  me  at  once.  I  don't  guess  there 
was  any  mistake.  And  I  knew  him.  When  he  heard 
I  was — married  to  you  he  pretended  he'd  mistaken  me 
for — some  one  else.  And  when  he  explained  who,  and 
his  feelings  against  that  woman — it  was  me  he  was  de- 
scribing— I  knew  he  was,  as  was  suspected,  one  of  the 
Lightfoot  gang  at  Orrville.  Sikkem  wrote  that  note.  I 
could  stake  my  life  on  it.  And — now  he's  sent  for  you. 
He's  asking  you  to  go  out  to  Spruce  Crossing — at  night. 
A  distant,  lonely  point  in  the  hills.  He  says  he's  mor- 
tally wounded.  He  has  found  the  rustlers  hiding.  Of 
course  he  has.  He's  known  all  along.  Nor  do  I  believe 
he's  wounded.  He — and  the  others — think  the  only  way 
to  get  back  on  me  is — through  you.  They  mean  to  kill 
you.     Who's  the  boy  who  brought  in  word  ?  " 

"  A  new  '  hand '  we've  taken  on  to  replace  the  boy 
who  was  shot  up  two  days  back." 

"  One  of  the  gang." 

The  woman  spoke  with  a  decision  she  did  not  realize. 
But  her  belief  had  become  conviction.  No  shadow  of 
doubt  remained. 

Jeff  gazed  thoughtfully  down  at  the  note.  When  he 
raised  his  eyes  his  regard  had  undergone  a  shadow  of 
change. 

There  was  less  coldness  in  them.     He  shrugged. 

"Guess  we'll  leave  that  at  present.  Why  all  this 
now?" 

"  Because  your  life's  in  danger.     That's  how  I  figure." 

There  was  a  deep  note  of  urgency  in  the  woman's 


3i 8  THE  FORFEIT 

voice.  Her  eyes  were  alight  with  a  sudden,  unmistaka- 
ble emotion.  But  even  if  the  man  realized  these  things 
he  ignored  them. 

"  My  life  ?  "  There  was  something  cruelly  biting  in  the 
reflection.  "  And  all  this  time  you  knew — Sikkem.  You 
knew  we  were  being  raided." 

"  I "  Elvine  broke  off. 

She  had  no  reply.  There  could  be  no  reply.  Why, 
she  wondered  in  sudden  horror,  had  she  not  told  of  this 
thing  before? 

She  stood  with  downcast  eyes  before  the  accusing 
glance  of  the  man.  Then,  after  a  moment's  pause,  a 
sound  escaped  his  lips.  And  in  it  was  every  thinkable 
expression  of  condemnation  and  contempt. 

"Tchah!" 

He  turned  away  and  strode  across  to  his  horse.  The 
woman's  voice  came  to  him  low,  despairing,  appealing. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Jeff,  don't  go !  You  won't  go  1 
They'll  kill  you !     Oh,  God  !     Jeff !     Oh  ! " 

The  final  exclamation  came  in  a  sort  of  moan  as  the 
man  swung  himself  into  the  saddle,  and,  without  a  word, 
turned  his  horse  and  rode  away. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  HEARTS  OF  TWO  WOMEN 

THE  figure  was  silent,  motionless  upon  the  veranda. 
The  eyes  were  dull  and  lifeless.  It  was  as  though  par- 
alysis held  the  woman  in  its  grip. 

"Tchah!" 

The  echo  of  that  fierce  expletive  remained.  It  rang 
through  heart  and  brain.  Its  sting  was  hot.  It  seared 
its  way  through  the  life  channels  and  blasted  all  hope. 

Was  there  ever  such  contempt,  such  scorn,  such  re- 
pulsion, concentrated  in  one  single  ejaculation  !  It  told 
the  woman  everything.  It  told  of  a  failure  so  complete 
that  hope  became  an  emotion  driven  forever  from  her 
heart.  It  told  her  that  the  usury  of  life  was  beyond  all 
belief.  It  told  her  that  the  interest  demanded  for  every 
pledged  moment  was  without  pity,  or  mercy,  or  justice. 
Now  she  knew  how  she  had  pawned,  and,  oh  God,  the 
interest  which  was  being  torn  from  her ! 

Her  gaze  remained  upon  the  angle  of  the  barn  around 
which  her  husband  had  vanished.  She  was  waiting  for 
him  to  reappear.  She  was  waiting  to  see  if  he  would  ride 
off  in  spite  of  her  warning.  But  she  was  unaware  of  the 
thought  prompting  her.  All  she  knew,  all  she  felt,  was 
the  contempt,  the  scorn,  the  distrust  he  had  hurled  at  her. 

The  western  sky  had  faded  to  a  pallid  yellow.  The 
distance  was  losing  itself  in  the  rising  purple  shadows. 


32o  THE  FORFEIT 

Already  the  dark  patches  of  woodlands  were  assuming 
that  ghostly  vagueness  which  belongs  to  twilight.  The 
ranch  was  wrapped  in  a  deep  repose.  A  sense  of  rest 
had  fallen  upon  the  great  valley.  All  life  seemed  satis- 
fied with  its  long  day's  effort  and  desired  only  the  peace 
of  night. 

But  the  quiet  suddenly  gave  way  before  a  fresh  clatter 
of  movement.  Hoofs  once  more  beat  on  the  sun-baked 
soil.  Two  figures  grew  out  of  the  twilight  from  behind 
the  barn,  and  the  woman  knew  that  her  warning  had 
gone  for  naught.  She  watched  them  until  they  were 
swallowed  up  by  the  growing  dusk.  The  last  dim  out- 
line blurred  itself  into  the  pasture.     Then  she  stirred. 

A  deep  sigh  was  heavily  breathed.  Then,  in  a  mo- 
ment, the  paralysis  fell  from  her.  The  dullness  of  her 
eyes  gave  place  to  a  sheen  of  excitement,  and  her  perfect 
cheeks  assumed  a  faint,  hectic  flush. 

For  one  brief  moment  she  glanced  back  into  the  house. 
Then  she  glanced  down  at  her  own  clothing.  She  was 
still  clad  in  the  riding  suit  which  had  become  her  daily 
wear.  The  survey  seemed  to  satisfy  her,  for  she  left  the 
veranda  at  a  run,  and  made  her  way  toward  the  barn. 

Perhaps  five  minutes  later  she,  too,  became  lost  in  the 
growing  twilight,  and  her  horse's  hoofs  awoke  anew  the 
echoes  of  the  place.  But  her  way  did  not  lie  in  the  track 
of  the  others.  Her  horse  was  racing  headlong  in  the 
direction  of  Nan's  home. 

Bud  and  Nan  were  just  finishing  their  supper  when 
Elvine  broke  in  upon  them.  She  came  with  a  rush  and 
a  clatter  which  brought  Nan  out  on  to  the  veranda  in  a 
hurry  of  anxious  inquiry.  Bud  was  behind  her,  but  his 
movements  lacked  her  impulse. 


THE  HEARTS  OF  TWO  WOMEN  321 

Elvine  was  out  of  the  saddle.  She  stood  on  the  ve- 
randa, a  figure  of  wild-eyed  appeal. 

"  Jeff !  Oh,  he's  gone.  Nan,  they'll— they'll  kill  him  ! 
I  know  it.  I'm  certain.  And  I  warned  him.  I  warned 
him.     But— oh  I " 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  It  was  a  move- 
ment inspired  by  the  memory  of  his  scorn. 

Nan's  responsive  heart  was  caught  by  the  other's  emo- 
tion. But  above  it  leaped  a  fear  which  she  was  power- 
less to  deny.  Jeff  ?  Jeff  in  danger  ?  She  flung  out  an 
arm.  Her  small  hand  gripped  the  other  with  a  force  that 
was  incredible. 

11  What  d'you  mean  ? "  she  cried,  almost  fiercely. 
"  Don't  stand  there  like  a  fool.  Who  is  going  to  harm 
Jeff?" 

The  sharp  authority,  so  prompt,  so  unexpected,  dragged 
the  distraught  woman  into  some  command  of  herself. 
She  raised  her  head.  Her  eyes  were  hot  with  unshed 
tears.  They  looked  into  Nan's,  so  urgent,  yet  so  full  of 
a  steadfast  sanity. 

11  It's  Sikkem,"  she  cried,  steadying  herself.  "  He's 
sent  in  to  say  he's  badly  shot  up.  He  says  he's  located 
the  rustlers'  camp  and  must  hand  Jeff  the  news  before 
— while  he  has  time.  Jeff's  gone  out  there,  and — Sik- 
kem's  one  of  the  gang  and  escaped  from  Orrville  four 
years  ago." 

"  How  d'you  know  ?  "  It  was  Bud's  heavy  voice  put 
the  question.     It  was  full  of  stern  command. 

"I've  seen  him.  I  know  him,  and — he  knows  me. 
He — he  wrote  this  and  sent  it  me." 

Elvine  thrust  the  crumpled  note  at  Bud.  Her  gesture 
was  almost  desperate, 


322  THE  FORFEIT 

"  When  did  he  send  it  ? "  Again  came  Bud's  com- 
mand. 

"  Days  ago." 

"  An'  Jeff— didn't  know  till— now  ?  " 

"  I  was  afraid  to  tell  him — then." 

Bud  and  Nan  read  the  note  by  the  parlor  lamplight. 
A  bitter  imprecation  broke  from  the  man's  lips. 

"  Guess  I  don't  get  it — yet,"  he  said. 

But  Nan  was  quicker. 

"  He's  gone  to  Spruce  Crossing — to  Sikkem  ? "  she 
cried,  her  eyes  hot  as  they  dwelt  on  the  shaking  woman 
before  her.  "Don't  wait  talking.  It  don't  matter  the 
right  of  things.  You,  Daddy,  get  our  horses  fixed  and 
round  up  a  bunch  of  boys  from  the  bunkroom.  Jeff's 
in  danger,  an'  it's  up  to  us.  Maybe  Evie'll  tell  me  while 
you  go." 

Something  of  the  great  Bud's  feelings  was  displayed 
in  the  celerity  of  his  movements.  He  was  gone  before 
Nan  had  finished  speaking. 

The  two  women  were  left  facing  each  other. 

Seconds  passed  without  a  word.  The  gentle  Nan  no 
longer  looked  out  of  the  brown  eyes.  They  were  hot, 
resentful.  Nor  would  any  one  have  recognized  in  the 
anxious-eyed  woman  before  her  the  beautiful  creature 
who  had  first  stirred  Jeffrey  Masters  out  of  his  years  of 
celibate  thought. 

Without  a  word  Nan  turned  back  to  the  parlor.  When 
she  reappeared  she  was  buckling  a  revolver  belt  about 
her  slim  waist.  The  two  heavy  holsters  it  supported  were 
almost  incongruous  on  so  slight  a  figure. 

Elvine  watched  her.  The  girl's  deliberation  was  in 
deep    contrast    to   her  own   emotions.     Then,    too,    the 


THE  HEARTS  OF  TWO  WOMEN  323 

sympathy  which  had  fled  from  Nan's  brown  eyes  left 
them  full  of  hard  resolve. 

"  You — are  not  going  ?  "  Elvine  said,  pointing  at  the 
weapons. 

Nan's  surprise  was  genuine. 

"  Jeff's  in  danger.'1 

"  But  you — a  woman  ?  You  can't  help.  You  might 
even " 

"  Jeff's  in  danger." 

Nan  repeated  the  words  with  an  emphasis  there  could 
be  no  mistaking.  And  as  the  final  syllable  escaped  her 
pretty  lips  became  firmly  compressed 

Elvine  regarded  her  for  a  silent  moment  or  two.  A 
strange  new  sensation  was  stirring  within  her.  Nan's 
attitude  had  brought  it  into  being.  Her  earlier  emotions 
receded  before  this  new  feeling.  And,  strangely  enough, 
she  remembered  some  words  her  mother  had  once  spoken 
to  her.  It  was  at  a  time  before  she  had  engaged  herself 
to  her  husband. 

"  But  Jeff — is  nothing  to  you,"  she  said  abruptly. 

There  was  a  new  ring  in  the  voice  in  which  she  spoke. 

"Is  he?" 

Nan's  eyes  looked  straight  into  the  wife's.  There  was 
no  smile  in  them.  There  was  no  emotion  lying  behind 
them  that  Elvine  could  read.  They  were  steady,  un- 
flinching.    That  was  all. 

Sounds  came  up  from  the  ranch  buildings.  Voices 
reached  them  plainly.  And  among  them  Bud's  domi- 
nating tones  were  raised  above  all. 

Nan's  eyes  were  drawn  in  the  direction,  but  her  gaze 
only  encountered  the  moonless  night. 

"What  is  he — to  you?"     Elvine's  demand  was  stri- 


324 


THE  FORFEIT 


dent  She  was  roused  from  her  sense  of  her  own  suffer- 
ings, her  own  misery.  The  newly  awakened  emotion 
had  leaped  to  proportions  which  threatened  to  overwhelm 
all  others. 

Nan's  eyes  came  back  to  her  face.  There  was  some- 
thing almost  reckless  in  their  regard.  There  was  even 
a  suggestion  of  derision  in  them,  a  suggestion  of  tri- 
umph. But  it  was  not  the  triumph  over  a  rival.  It  was 
the  triumph  of  one  who  realizes  her  conquest  over  self. 

"  Everything  ! M  she  cried.  Then  she  added  almost  to 
herself :  "  Everything  I  can  think  of,  have  ever  dreamed 
of  in  life."  Then  suddenly  her  voice  rose  to  a  ring  of 
ecstasy.  It  was  the  abundance,  the  purity  of  her  love, 
the  certainty  of  victory  over  self  which  inspired  it.  "  Ah, 
Evie,  don't  be  rattled  with  what  I'm  telling  you.  Ther' 
surely  is  no  need.  You  want  to  be  mad  with  me.  Guess 
you  needn't  to  be.  Jeff  don't  know  it.  He  never  will 
know  it.  I've  never  had  a  hope  of  him  since  he  met  you. 
He's  always  been  just  yours.  I  don't  guess  you  need  to 
worry  a  thing  that  way.  The  worrying's  for  me.  I've 
loved  him  since  ever  I  was  a  child  :  since  ever  he  came 
here.  Well,  you  figure  he's  in  danger — so  it's  up  to 
those  who  love  him  to  do.  You  see,  I — well,  I  just  love 
him  with  my  whole  soul." 

She  turned  away.  The  reception  of  her  confession 
seemed  to  concern  her  not  at  all. 

Out  of  the  darkness  loomed  her  father's  great  figure. 
He  was  leading  Nan's  horse  as  well  as  his  own.  The 
girl  leaped  into  the  saddle,  and  he  passed  his  own  reins 
up  to  her. 

"  I  shan't  be  haf  a  minit,"  he  said.  "  I  need  my  guns. 
The  boys  are  waitin*  by  the  barn." 


THE  HEARTS  OF  TWO  WOMEN  325 

He  passed  into  the  house.  Then  Nan  observed  Elvine. 
She,  too,  had  leaped  into  the  saddle.  Nor  could  the  girl 
help  being  struck  by  the  manner  of  her  action. 

"  You're  goin'  back  home  ?  "  she  cried. 

Elvine  shook  her  head  resolutely. 

"  How— then  ?  " 

The  wife  suddenly  urged  her  horse.  It  came  right  up 
to  Nan's  with  an  almost  spasmodic  jump,  driven  by  a 
vicious  jab  of  the  woman's  spurred  heel. 

The  dark  eyes  were  lit  with  an  angry  fire  as  she  leaned 
forward  in  the  saddle.  Her  words  came  in  a  voice  of 
passionate  jealousy. 

"  You  love  him,  so  you  go  to  him,  ready  to  face  any- 
thing— for  him.  Do  you  think  I  don't  love  him?  Do 
you  think  I'm  not  ready  to  dare  for  him — anything? 
Your  love  gives  you  that  right.  What  of  mine  ?  Does 
mine  give  me  no  right?  Say,  child,  your  fool  conceit 
runs  away  with  you.  I  tell  you  you  don't  know  what 
love  is.  You  say  you  love  him  with  your  whole  soul. 
And  you  are  content  to  live  without  him.  Psha !  Your 
soul  must  be  a  poor  enough  thing.  I  tell  you  life  means 
nothing  to  me  without  him.  I  can't  and  won't  live 
without  him." 


The  black  earth  sped  under  the  horses'  hoofs.  The 
stars  shone  like  dew  on  the  velvet  pall  of  night.  ,Bud 
led,  as  he  always  led  in  the  things  practical  which  be- 
longed to  his  life. 

He  needed  no  thought  for  guidance  on  that  night 
journey.  Unerring  instinct  served  him  across  those  wide 
plains.     Spruce  Crossing  might  have  possessed  a  beacon 


326  THE  FORFEIT 

light,  so  straight,  so  unerring  was  the  lead  he  offered  to 
those  behind  him. 

Now,  perhaps,  more  than  ever,  all  his  great  skill  was 
put  forth.  For  he  had  listened  to  the  complete,  if  halting, 
story  of  the  man's  wife,  and  shared  with  her  the  convic- 
tion of  treachery.  For  the  time,  at  least,  all  consideration 
for  the  woman  was  thrust  aside.  He  offered  no  words  of 
blame.     His  concern  was  simply  the  succor  of  his  friend. 

Nan  was  ready  to  follow  him  whithersoever  he  led. 
She  was  ready  to  obey  his  lightest  command,  for  she 
understood  his  skill.  She  had  no  thought  for  anything 
but  the  man  she  loved.  No  possibilities  of  mischance, 
no  threat  to  herself  could  find  place  in  her  thought.  For 
her  Jeff's  well-being  was  her  single  concern. 

Elvine  rode  beside  her,  step  for  step.  She  had  told  her 
story  as  they  rode.  After  that  silence  between  them 
prevailed.  It  was  a  silence  fraught  with  an  emotion  too 
deep  for  any  words.  A  fierce  jealousy  mingled  with  her 
passionate  longing.  Her  world  was  empty  of  all  but  two 
figures.  The  man  she  loved,  and  the  girl  who  had  con- 
fessed her  love  with  all  the  strength  of  a  great,  simple 
courage. 

Whatever  the  night  might  bring  forth,  whatever 
tragedy  might  be  in  store,  she  scarcely  had  thought  for 
anything  but  her  own  almost  mad  resolve.  This  girl, 
this  child  of  the  plains,  should  obtain  no  advantage.  She 
was  prepared  to  yield  all  for  the  succor  of  the  husband 
who  had  scorned  her — even  to  life  itself. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

TO   SPRUCE  CROSSING 

The  eyes  of  the  night  were  there  alone  to  see.  It  was 
as  well.  There  are  moments  in  men's  lives  when  it  is 
best  that  it  should  be  so.  Passions  are  not  always  sane. 
They  are  not  always  human. 

So  it  was  with  Jeffrey  Masters.  The  change  in  him 
had  been  rapid.  It  was  almost  magical.  Always  one 
who  lacked  something  of  the  softer  human  qualities,  he 
yet  must  have  been  counted  a  man  of  balance.  If  sym- 
pathy, sentiment,  were  never  his  strong  points,  he  was  by 
no  means  lacking  in  loyalty,  kindliness,  Tightness  of  pur- 
pose. All  his  life,  achievement,  achievement  under  the 
strictest  canons  of  honesty,  or  moral  scruple,  had  been 
the  motive  urging  him.  He  had  seen  neither  to  the  right 
nor  to  the  left  of  these  things. 

Then  had  come  the  woman  into  his  life  and  the  light- 
ing of  those  natural  fires  which  belong  to  all  human  life. 
He  yielded  to  them,  and  the  suddenness  of  it  all  seemed 
to  sweep  away  every  cooler  method  which  had  always 
governed  him.  There  had  been  no  thought,  no  calcula- 
tion in  his  yielding,  such  as  might  have  been  expected. 
He  was  the  victim  of  his  own  temperament.  His  powerful 
restraint  had  been  suddenly  relaxed.  And,  for  the  time, 
he  had  been  completely  overwhelmed  by  the  intensity  of 
his  passion. 


328  THE  FORFEIT 

But  this  passion  for  the  woman  who  had  so  suddenly- 
entered  his  life  was  merely  the  opening  of  vials  of 
emotion  hitherto  held  sealed.  It  was  no  radical  trans- 
formation. All  that  had  been  his  before  still  remained, 
buried  perhaps  for  the  moment  under  the  avalanche 
of  feeling,  but  nevertheless  still  occupying  its  place. 
These  things  could  not  be  swept  away.  They  could  not 
be  destroyed.  They  would  remain  when  the  passionate 
fires  had  completely  burned  themselves  out. 

But  the  unlooked-for  had  happened.  These  fires  had 
not  been  permitted  to  burn  themselves  out.  They  had 
been  extinguished,  deluged  out  of  existence  when  the  idol 
of  his  worship  was  flung  headlong  from  its  pedestal  by 
the  complete  revolt  of  his  moral  being.  His  prejudices, 
his  instincts,  matured  through  years  of  effort,  were  the 
stronger  part  of  him,  and  the  conflict  was  decided  before 
it  began.  The  shock  of  discovery  had  brought  a  terrible 
reaction.  His  love  was  killed  under  the  blow.  And 
though  for  a  while  the  sense  of  overwhelming  disaster 
had  been  crushing,  the  measure  of  that  disaster  was  taken 
swiftly.  It  left  him  disillusioned,  it  left  him  harder,  colder. 
But  it  left  him  sane. 

These  things  were  not  all,  however.  On  this  night  he 
had  approached  far  nearer  the  hell  which  only  a  woman 
can  create  for  a  man  than  his  first  discovery  had  borne 
him.  The  irony  of  it  was  perfect.  Out  of  her  great  love 
for  him,  solely  in  his  interest,  in  a  great  desire  to  shield 
him  from  a  danger  she  saw  threatening  him,  she  had 
contrived  to  convince  him  that  she  had  been  as  ready  to 
sacrifice  him,  his  interests,  the  interests  of  his  friends,  as 
she  had  been  to  accept  the  price  offered  for  the  blood  of 
his  twin  brother. 


TO  SPRUCE  CROSSING  329 

So  the  eyes  of  the  night  looked  down  upon  the  haunt- 
ing figure  of  a  man  who  knew  neither  mercy,  nor  pity, 
nor  hope.  The  world  of  human  happiness  had  closed  its 
doors  upon  him,  and  his  whole  spirit  and  body  demanded 
a  fierce  retaliation. 

That  was  the  mood  which  looked  out  of  his  coldly 
shining  eyes.  That  was  the  mood  which  drove  the  horse 
under  him  at  a  headlong  gait,  and  left  his  spurs  blood- 
stained upon  his  heels.  That  was  the  mood  that  left  him 
caring  nothing  for  any  danger  that  might  lurk  under 
cover  of  the  starlit  dark  of  night.  The  fierceness  of  his 
temper  demanded  outlet.  Bodily  outlet.  Active  conflict. 
Anything,  so  that  a  burning  lust  for  hurt  should  be  satis- 
fied. He  cared  nothing  at  all  for  himself.  No  bodily 
suffering  could  compare  with  the  anguish  of  mind  he  had 
passed  through,  was  still  passing  through.  And  so  he 
rode  headlong  till  the  youth  accompanying  him  was 
hard  put  to  it  to  keep  pace  with  him. 

The  hammering  of  the  horses'  hoofs  upon  the  sun- 
baked earth  was  a  fitting  accompaniment  to  his  mood. 
The  sigh  of  the  night  breezes  through  the  trees  was  no 
less  desolate  than  his  heart.  Nor  was  the  darkness  one 
whit  more  dark  than  the  stream  of  thought  which  flowed 
through  his  hot  brain. 

Not  one  word  did  he  exchange  with  the  man  behind 
him.  In  truth  the  youth  who  had  brought  the  summons 
had  no  part  in  the  thing  that  was  happening,  at  least  not 
in  Jeffrey  Masters'  mind.  There  was  no  one  besides  him- 
self in  this.  There  was  just  himself  and  his  goal — what- 
ever that  might  bring  forth — with  a  wild,  almost  insane 
desire  to  act  fiercely  and  without  mercy  should  oppor- 
tunity offer. 


33o  THE  FORFEIT 

The  land  rose  and  fell,  from  hill  to  valley,  from  valley 
to  hill.  The  way  lay  through  avenues  of  bluff-lined  grass, 
or  across  hollows  of  virgin  pasture.  Trickling  mountain 
streams  barred  the  way,  only  to  be  passed  without  a 
thought  of  their  depth,  or  the  dangers  of  their  treacher- 
ous, sodden  banks.  The  mountain  barrier  ahead,  loom- 
ing darkly  forbidding  in  the  starlight,  with  its  mazing 
hollows  and  woodland  crowns,  was  incapable  of  inspira- 
tion at  the  moment.  There  are  moments  when  Nature's 
profoundest  awe  is  powerless  to  affect  the  mind  of  man. 
These  were  such  moments.  The  whole  mind  of  Jeffrey 
Masters  was  absorbed  till  there  was  no  room  for  any 
influence  which  did  not  arise  out  of  the  burden  of  his 
bitterness. 

But  if  he  were  indifferent  to  his  surroundings,  the  man 
riding  hard  behind  him  moved  with  eyes  and  ears  fully 
alert.  That  which  he  was  seeking  would  have  been  im- 
possible to  tell.  Nevertheless  every  shadow  seemed  to 
possess  interest,  every  night  sound  to  possess  some  qual- 
ity worth  remarking.  Not  for  an  instant,  after  the  hills 
had  been  entered,  did  his  vigilance  relax. 

Spruce  Crossing  lay  deep  in  the  hills,  a  clearing  to  the 
south  of  the  junction  of  converging  mountain  streams. 
It  was  a  mere  cattle  station,  neither  better  nor  worse  than 
several  others  lying  on  the  outskirts  of  the  Obar  territory. 
Yet  it  was  important  that  it  headed  a  valley  running  north 
and  south  amongst  the  hills,  where  the  grass  was  sweet, 
and  rich,  and  fattening,  one  of  those  surprise  natural  pas- 
tures which  the  hills  love  to  yield  occasionally  to  those 
who  seek  out  their  wealth. 

A  glimmer  of  light,  like  some  distant  star  fallen  to 
earth  from  its  velvet  setting  above,  marked  the  station 


TO  SPRUCE  CROSSING  331 

house.  It  was  visible  at  a  great  distance  down  the  flat 
stretch  of  the  valley.  The  ranchman's  horse  was  headed 
directly  for  it,  and  the  animal  moved  readily,  eagerly  now, 
nor  were  the  spurs  needed  to  urge  him  further.  The  in- 
stinct of  its  journey's  end  was  sufficient  to  encourage  its 
flagging  spirits. 

The  distant  light  grew  brighter.  It  took  on  the  rectan- 
gular form  of  a  window  opening  in  a  log-built  hut. 

Jeffrey  Masters  had  fixed  his  gaze  upon  it,  and  so  the 
shadowy  scene  about  him  passed  all  unnoticed.  He  saw 
nothing  of  the  darker  objects  lying  on  the  ground  adja- 
cent to  his  way.  The  slumbering  kine  which  bore  his 
brand  remained  all  unheeded.  He  had  no  thought  for 
them.  His  course  took  him  over  a  track  which  passed 
down  a  land  between  two  fenced  pastures.  These,  too, 
were  stocked  with  fattening  steers,  or  with  the  brood 
cows  and  their  attendant  calves.  At  another  time,  under 
other  conditions,  these  things  would  have  held  for  him  an 
absorbing  interest.     Now  they  concerned  him  not  at  all. 

The  dark  pastures  gave  place  to  a  number  of  corrals, 
also  lost  in  the  summer  night.  A  dog  barked.  Then,  in 
a  moment,  its  sharp  yelps  became  silent,  and  the  stillness 
became  once  more  unbroken  except  for  the  hard  pound- 
ing hoofs  of  the  two  horsemen  approaching. 

A  few  moments  later  these  sounds  ceased  as  the  dark 
outline  of  the  station  house  itself  took  shape. 

For  a  few  seconds  Jeff  gazed  at  the  window  opening 
where  the  light  from  within  was  still  shining.  A  sound 
had  caught  and  held  his  attention.  It  came  from  within 
the  hut,  and  there  was  no  mistaking  it.  It  was  the  sound 
inspired  by  physical  suffering,  and  the  voice  that  uttered 
it  was  a  man's.     He  sprang  out  of  the  saddle  and  turned 


332  THE  FORFEIT 

to  hand  his  horse  to  the  man  who  had  accompanied  him. 
But  he  found  himself  standing  alone. 

With  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders  he  left  his  horse  and 
turned  at  once  to  the  hut.  Just  for  an  instant  he  hesitated 
once  more.  It  was  his  thought  to  look  in  through  the 
window.  The  hesitation  passed.  The  next  moment  he 
passed  along  the  lateral  log  walls  to  the  far  end  of  the 
building  where  he  knew  the  door  to  be  situated. 

The  door  was  closed.  He  placed  his  hand  on  the 
heavy  wooden  latch.  A  second  passed.  He  glanced 
over  his  shoulder.  It  had  occurred  to  him  to  wonder 
at  the  sudden  going  of  the  youth  who  had  accompanied 
him. 

But  there  was  neither  sight  nor  sound  of  the  vanished 
youth.     He  raised  the  latch  and  swung  the  door  open. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

AN  EPIC  BATTLE 

THE  station  house  was  extensive.  It  was  a  bunk- 
house  of  lesser  dimensions. 

Jeff's  eyes  moved  swiftly  over  the  dim  interior.  The 
remoter  corners  of  the  place  were  shadowed.  But  the 
light  was  sufficient  to  yield  him  a  view  of  four  squalid 
bunks  on  which  the  many-hued  blankets  were  tumbled. 
The  walls  bore  signs  of  personal  effort  at  decoration. 
There  were  photographs  over  each  bunk,  tacked  up  and 
disfigured  by  flies.  There  were  odd  prints  pasted  on  the 
rough  log  walls,  the  seams  of  which  were  more  or  less 
adequately  filled  with  mud  to  keep  the  weather  out. 

There  were  two  rough  window  openings,  one  in  each 
side  wall.  The  only  entrance  or  exit  was  the  door  at  the 
northern  end,  through  which  he  had  approached.  At  the 
other  end,  directly  opposite  this,  an  oil  lamp  was  shedding 
its  feeble  rays  through  a  well-smoked  chimney  glass.  It 
was  standing  on  a  small  improvised  table  which  divided 
two  bunks  set  on  wooden  trestles.  The  whole  interior 
was  perhaps  thirty  feet  in  length  and  twelve  feet  wide,  a 
roomy,  unkempt  shanty,  which  served  its  simple  purpose 
as  a  shelter  for  men  unused  to  any  of  the  comforts  of  life. 

The  object  which  caught  and  held  Jeff's  instant  atten- 
tion was  the  figure  of  the  man  seated  on  the  side  of  one 
of  the  bunks,  beside  the  table  on  which  the  lamp  stood. 
It  was  the  figure  of  Sikkem  Bruce,  bearing  no  trace  what- 


334  THE  FORFEIT 

ever  of  any  mortal  injury,  and  with  a  look  of  wide-eyed 
surprise  upon  his  evil  countenance. 

Jeff  moved  up  the  room.  He  approached  without 
haste.  His  eyes  were  steady,  and  his  expression  one  of 
tight-lipped  determination.  There  was  something  coldly 
commanding  in  his  attitude.  His  fair,  bronzed  features, 
keen,  set,  displayed  no  weakening.  His  body  seemed 
poised  ready  for  everything  that  could  possibly  happen. 
The  latent  power  and  vigor  of  his  movements  were  tre- 
mendous. He  carried  no  weapons  of  defense  in  view, 
and  his  dress  was  a  simple  loose  jacket  over  a  cotton 
shirt,  and,  for  nether  garments,  a  pair  of  loose  riding 
breeches  which  terminated  in  soft  leather  top-boots. 

Sikkem's  eyes  were  on  him  the  whole  time.  There 
was  even  some  slight  apprehension  in  them  at  the  sight 
of  that  swift,  voiceless  approach.  Jeff  came  to  a  halt  be- 
fore him,  and  it  was  the  ranch  hand  who  found  speech 
most  necessary. 

"  Say,  I  didn't  guess  you  was  gettin'  around  to-night, 
boss,"  he  said  with  some  show  of  ease. 

"No?" 

"  I  sure  didn't." 

Jeff's  retort  flashed  out. 

"  Then  what  did  you  send  that  youngster  in  for  with  a 
mouthful  of  durned  lies?" 

Sikkem  stared.  But  his  look  was  unconvincing.  Mo- 
ments passed  before  his  reply  came,  and  in  those  moments 
the  keen  eyes  of  his  employer  were  busy.  The  man  was 
still  in  the  working  kit  of  a  cowpuncher.  Even  to  the 
chapps,  and  the  prairie  hat  crushed  down  on  his  ugly 
bullet  head.  Then,  too,  his  pair  of  guns  were  still 
strapped  about  his  waist.     None  of  these  things  escaped 


AN  EPIC  BATTLE  335 

Jeff,  any  more  than  did  the  fellow's  clumsy  regard.  He 
wondered  how  much  truth — if  any — lay  behind  that  mask 
of  wicked  eyes  and  brutish  features. 

"  I'm  waiting." 

Jeffs  demand  came  with  a  rasp.  The  man's  delay  in 
reply  had  conveyed  all  he  wanted  to  know  of  the  truth  in 
him. 

"  Wot  youngster  ?  I  tell  you  I  didn't  send  no  one  in." 
There  was  truculence  in  the  denial.     "Wot's  the  lies?" 

The  ranchman  was  no  match  for  the  keen  mind  of  his 
employer.  In  brute  force  he  might  have  been  more  than 
his  equal.  But  even  that  was  doubtful.  While  he  was 
speaking  Jeff  moved.  Up  to  that  moment  he  had  been 
facing  the  foreman  with  his  back  turned  toward  the  dis- 
tant door.  Now  his  movement  placed  him  against  the 
table  with  his  back  to  the  other  empty  bunk,  and  his 
focus  took  in  not  only  the  man  before  him,  but  the  shad- 
owy outline  of  the  distant  half-open  door. 

"It's  the  boy  we  took  on  the  other  day  at — your 
recommendation.  Your  recommendation.  Get  me  ? 
Guess  he  came  with  the  yarn  you  were  shot  to  death. 
You'd  located  the  rustlers'  camp.  You  needed  to  see  me 
quick."  Jeff's  words  came  swiftly.  Then  after  a  pause 
he  added  :  "  You  didn't  send  him  along  ?    Who  did  ?  " 

As  Jeff  watched  the  man's  deliberate  shake  of  the  head 
he  became  aware  of  a  muffled  sound,  somewhere  away 
beyond  the  door.  It  was  faint,  but,  to  him,  unmistakable. 
He  gave  no  sign. 

"  Where  are  the  other  boys  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Out  on  cattle  guard." 

The  movement  beyond  the  door  again  penetrated  the 
silence  of  the  hut.     Now  it  was  that  the  ranchman  made 


336  THE  FORFEIT 

his  mistake.  Only  for  an  instant  did  he  turn  his  head 
and  eyes  in  the  direction  of  the  sound.  But  it  was  suffi- 
cient. 

Jeff's  voice  rasped  again. 

"  Stand  up,  darn  you  !     Stand  up  1 " 

Sikkem's  gaze  came  back  abruptly,  and  on  the  instant 
his  right  hand  flew  to  his  waist  for  his  guns.  But  the 
muzzle  of  Jeff's  revolver  was  within  a  foot  of  his  head, 
and  behind  it  his  coldly  shining  eyes. 

Sikkem's  hand  dropped  from  his  waist.  He  stood 
up.  The  law  of  the  gun  was  powerfully  ingrained  upon 
his  mind. 

"  Loose  those  guns  at  your  waist — quick !  Let  'em 
drop  on  the  bunk  1  Quick,  or  I'll  pump  you  full  of 
lead  ! " 

The  deadliness  of  Jeff's  command  was  irresistible.  The 
power  of  that  leveled  gun  indisputable.  The  buckle  was 
loosened,  and  the  weapons  fell  on  the  blankets  behind 
the  ranchman. 

"  Now  push  your  hands  up  !     Right  up  !  " 

The  command  was  obeyed  on  the  instant,  but  the  look 
which  accompanied  the  movement  was  as  deadly  as  hu- 
man passion  could  make  it. 

"  Back  away  !     Back  to  the  far  end  !     Sharp  I  " 

Sikkem  moved.  But  his  movement  was  not  rapid 
enough.     Jeff  urged  him. 

In  the  pause  Jeff's  straining  ears  caught  again  that 
sound  of  movement,  and  he  wondered  why  development 

was   not   precipitated.     Perhaps But   Sikkem  had 

nearly  reached  the  distant  wall,  and,  at  that  instant,  a 
whistle  shrilled  through  the  building. 

Jeff  knew  he  was  trapped.     But,  with  a  wonderful  sense 


AN  EPIC  BATTLE  337 

of  detachment,  mind  and  body  worked  almost  electrically. 
His  revolver  spat  out  its  vicious  report.  For  the  fraction 
of  a  second  he  held  the  smoking  lamp  poised  in  his  other 
hand.  Then,  like  a  shooting  star,  it  flew  through  the  ad- 
jacent window  and  fell  extinguished  amidst  the  crash  of 
its  own  glass.  It  was  at  the  complete  fall  of  darkness 
that  the  door  slammed  closed,  and  half  a  dozen  shots 
rang  out  through  the  building,  followed  by  the  "  plonk  " 
of  the  bullets  embedding  themselves  in  the  solid  logs  im- 
mediately behind  where  the  rancher  had  been  standing. 

But  Jeff  was  no  longer  there.  There  had  been  a  simul- 
taneous clatter  of  falling  bunk  boards.  There  was  the 
rustling  of  straw.  Then  a  sound  of  scrambling,  and, 
after  that,  a  dead  silence.  The  darkness  was  complete 
except  for  the  faint  silhouette  of  the  windows  against  the 
dim  starlight  beyond  them. 

Jeff  had  taken  the  big  chance.  What  remained  now 
must  be  met  as  circumstance  permitted.  The  blood  in 
him  was  fired.  The  savage  delight  of  battle.  He  would 
sell  the  last  breath  in  his  body  at  the  highest  price  he 
could  make  his  enemies  pay.  He  had  walked  into  a 
trap  laid  by  the  rustlers,  headed,  perhaps,  by  Sikkem 
Bruce,  with  his  eyes  wide  open,  and  some  almost  insane 
yearning  made  him  glad. 

Now  he  crouched  down  against  the  wall  beside  the 
table.  He  had  flung  up  a  barrier  of  straw  palliasse 
before  him.  It  was  not  as  a  protection  against  gun-fire, 
but  to  screen  his  movements  should  his  opponents  pro- 
duce a  light.  Then,  too,  there  was  another  thought  in 
his  mind. 

The  place  became  alive  with  sounds,  voiceless,  muffled 
sounds  of  cautious  movement.     It  was  the  movement  of 


338  THE  FORFEIT 

men  who  know  that  death  is  lurking  at  every  turn.  Nor 
could  they  tell  whence  it  was  most  likely  to  come.  It 
was  a  moment  of  tense  and  straining  nerves  wherein  the 
wit  of  one  man  had  discounted  the  elaborate  plan  to 
murder  of  those  whose  indifference  to  death  only  shrank 
from  the  contemplation  of  their  own. 

Jeff's  eyes  strained  against  the  darkness.  The  windows 
stood  out  in  silhouette.  From  these  he  had  no  fear.  He 
knew,  and  he  knew  that  these  ruffians  would  know,  the 
dangers  attending  themselves  from  any  attack  upon  him 
from  such  a  direction.  The  advantage  would  be  entirely 
his,  since  he  had  possessed  himself  of  Sikkem's  complete 
arsenal.  He  knew  it  was  for  him  to  await  the  fire  of 
these  men,  every  shot  of  which  would  yield  him  a  sure 
target. 

A  flash  broke  the  blackness  ahead  of  him.  The  bullet 
sank  into  the  woodwork  just  above  his  head  with  a  vi- 
cious splash.  But  he  refrained  from  reply.  Another 
crack  split  the  silence,  and  the  wall  to  the  left  of  him 
flung  back  its  response.     Still  he  offered  no  reply. 

His  eyes  were  searching,  searching.  And  a  surge  of 
excitement  suddenly  thrilled  him. 

Two  shots  came  on  the  same  instant.  One  slithered 
hotly  in  the  flesh  of  his  shoulder,  but  the  other  struck 
wide  of  him. 

The  wound  gave  him  no  concern.  Every  sense,  every 
faculty  was  concentrated  on  one  thought,  on  one  object. 
A  dim,  fine-drawn  but  uneven  line  of  shadowy  light  had 
grown  out  of  the  darkness  to  his  now  accustomed  eyes. 
It  was  vague,  so  vague  that  it  required  the  greatest  con- 
centration to  detect.  But  he  recognized  it  for  what  it 
was,  and  a  savage  delight  possessed  him  as  he  observed 


AN  EPIC  BATTLE  339 

that  there  were  breaks  in  its  continuity.  The  line  was 
waist  high,  and  lateral,  and  he  interpreted  it  to  suit  him- 
self. 

He  raised  his  gun  and  took  steady  aim  at  one  of  the 
breaks.  His  shot  was  deliberate,  careful,  since  the  sight 
of  his  weapon,  even  the  weapon  itself,  remained  invisible 
in  the  dark.  He  fired,  and  dropped  himself  prone  behind 
his  barrier. 

A  bitter  curse  followed  by  a  groan  of  pain  was  the  an- 
swer to  his  shot.  Then,  where  that  break  in  the  shadowy 
line  of  light  had  been,  now  the  line  was  unbroken. 

A  fierce  glee  permeated  him.  The  curse,  the  moan 
had  been  music  to  him.  But  it  only  required  a  second 
before  he  had  the  enemy's  retort. 

It  came  with  a  fusillade.  And  every  shot  seemed  to 
find  practically  the  same  spot  on  the  wall.  He  knew 
that  the  flash  of  his  gun  had  been  the  target.  He  knew 
he  had  only  escaped  by  a  fraction  of  time. 

His  shoulder  stung  him.  But  his  will,  his  savage 
yearning  for  the  continuance  of  the  fight,  left  him  disre- 
garding. There  was  more  to  come,  and  he  knew  it. 
Nor  did  he  care  how  much.  The  blood  was  hot  in  his 
brain.  No  pain,  nothing  mattered.  Again  he  searched 
along  that  lateral  line  of  light. 

He  was  reaching  out  far  beyond  his  retreat.  He  had 
stealthily  crawled  to  the  left  of  the  table.  Again  his 
weapon  was  raised  against  another  break  in  that  telltale 
line  of  light,  this  time  at  a  point  where  the  angle  of  the 
building  must  be.  A  moment  passed  while  he  judged 
his  aim.  It  was  by  no  means  easy.  Instinct  was  his  only 
guide.  That  instinct  which  belongs  to  the  man  accus- 
tomed to  the  constant  use  of  a  revolver. 


340  THE  FORFEIT 

His  shot  rang  out.  Again  came  a  cry,  inarticulate, 
fierce.  Then  followed  the  sound  of  a  falling  body. 
Then  he  let  loose  a  second  shot.  But  even  as  it  sped 
he  had  his  answer.  Four  tongues  of  flame  leaped  out  at 
him  in  the  darkness,  and  four  bullets  smote  viciously  into 
the  wood  behind  him. 

His  second  shot  had  cost  him  a  sharp  penalty.  The 
flesh  of  his  forearm  had  been  ripped  by  one  of  those  four 
bullets  and  he  felt  the  trickle  of  warm  blood  over  the 
unscored  flesh. 

He  crouched  behind  his  barrier.  The  joy  of  battle  for 
the  highest  stakes  for  which  a  man  can  play  was  undi- 
minished in  him.  The  wounds  he  had  received  left  him 
all  unconcerned.  In  the  thrill  of  the  moment  he  had  no 
time  for  them.  The  desire  to  kill  was  strong,  and  he 
knew  he  could  already  count  two  victims. 

But  the  general  in  him  was  foremost,  even  in  the  ex- 
citement of  battle.  The  number  of  his  opponents,  their 
next  move.     These  things  concerned  him  seriously. 

He  searched  the  line  of  light  with  eager  eyes.  He  lis- 
tened to  the  sound  of  movement.  These  things  were  all 
he  had  to  rely  on/and  on  their  accurate  reading  depended 
his  chances  of  victory  or  defeat,  with  its  certainty  of  swift 
death. 

In  two  places  there  were  still  definite  breaks  in  the 
line.  He  knew  he  had  accounted  for  two  of  the  enemy. 
Originally  a  volley  of  six  shots  had  come  at  him.  There 
were  two  unaccounted  for.  Where  were  these?  They 
were  not  standing. 

He  looked  for  no  depths  of  subtlety  in  the  methods  of 
these  men.  He  understood  their  ruffianism  too  well. 
Therefore  the  sound  of  movement  that  reached  him  sug- 


AN  EPIC  BATTLE  341 

gested  the  obvious  result  of  their  first  failure.  It  was  the 
presage  of  an  attack  at  close  quarters. 

He  listened  intently.  The  sounds  were  of  shuffling 
bodies,  moving  uncertainly,  possibly  fearful  of  contact 
with  obstruction  which  might  betray  them.  And  he  cal- 
culated they  were  approaching  low  down  along  the  side 
walls,  thus  hoping  to  offer  the  least  target  possible.  If 
they  reached  him  the  chances  would  be  all  against  him. 
They  must  not  reach  him.  His  decision  was  promptly 
taken. 

He  raised  one  of  Sikkem's  guns.  It  was  heavy,  and  a 
sense  of  pleasure  filled  him  as  he  felt  the  enormous  bore 
of  the  muzzle  with  one  finger.  Stealthily  he  raised  him- 
self to  his  full  height  behind  his  barrier.  He  leveled  his 
gun  at  a  spot  just  below  the  right  hand  window,  where 
the  wall  rose  up  out  of  the  floor.  There  was  no  obstacle 
intervening. 

A  moment  later  the  crack  of  the  gun  burst  through 
the  silence.  Then,  on  the  instant,  he  flung  himself  prone 
across  the  table.  His  answer  came  like  lightning.  Four 
shots.  And  three  of  them  harmlessly  tore  their  way  into 
the  bowels  of  the  woodwork.  The  fourth  had  come  from 
the  direction  in  which  he  had  aimed. 

A  fierce  spasm  of  pain  through  his  chest  blinded  him 
mentally  and  physically  for  the  moment.  But,  by  an 
almost  superhuman  effort,  he  recovered  himself.  He 
knew  he  was  hit,  and  hit  badly.  Something  seemed  to 
have  broken  inside  him,  just  under  his  left  armpit. 

He  forced  himself  to  an  upright  position  and  flung  out 
his  gun  arm.  His  eyes  were  again  on  the  line  of  light. 
A  fury  of  recklessness  was  urging  him.  There  were  the 
breaks,  and  he  blazed  at  each  in  turn,  carefully,  deliber- 


342 


THE  FORFEIT 


ately.  A  moment  later  two  shots  came  from  the  right 
and  left  of  him,  and  he  dropped  down  behind  his  barrier, 
but  not  before  he  had  heard  the  death-cries  of  fierce 
blasphemy  at  the  far  end  of  the  room. 

He  lay  behind  his  shelter  breathing  hard  and  suffering 
an  agony  of  physical  pain.  The  sweat  poured  down  his 
forehead.  It  seemed  to  him  that  everything  was  some- 
how receding  from  him,  even  the  sense  of  his  own  danger. 
In  these  feelings  he  realized  how  near  he  was  to  defeat, 
and  with  all  his  will  he  set  himself  to  conquer  his  weak- 
ness. A  few  moments  passed.  His  pain  eased.  Then, 
with  all  the  recklessness  of  the  gambler,  he  prepared  for 
his  final  throw. 

He  was  certain  he  had  accounted  for  four  of  the  enemy. 
Four.  He  calculated  there  were  still  two  remaining. 
He  shifted  his  position,  moving  himself  clear  of  his  shelter. 
A  hell  of  suffering  was  endured  in  the  process,  and  the 
sweat  poured  out  afresh  upon  his  forehead.  He  gritted 
his  teeth  with  superlative  determination  and  flung  back 
the  dreadful  faintness  seeking  to  smother  his  powers. 

He  raised  himself  to  a  sitting  posture.  He  sought 
support  from  the  wall  behind  him.  Then,  with  unbroken 
nerve,  he  raised  both  Sikkem's  guns,  one  in  each  hand. 
Without  a  tremor  he  held  them,  and  his  aim  took  in  the 
two  points  at  which  he  felt  the  remaining  foe  were 
advancing  upon  him.  Oh,  for  one  moment  of  light 
wherein  to  assure  himself !  But  the  thought  passed  as  it 
came,  followed  by  a  wild,  simple  hope  that  one  of  his 
shots  might  find  its  billet. 

He  pressed  the  trigger  in  each  hand.  He  fired 
rapidly.  He  fired  until  both  guns  were  empty.  Then 
he  flung  them  to  the   ground  with  a  clatter.     For  an 


AN  EPIC  BATTLE  343 

instant  he  thrilled  at  the  sound  of  a  cry  of  pain,  and  the 
fierce  accompanying  blasphemy.  Then  he  flung  him- 
self down  and  crawled  to  his  retreat  behind  the  palliasse, 
convinced  that  the  cry  was  in  the  voice  of  Sikkem  Bruce. 

His  sufferings  were  well-nigh  unendurable.  His  very 
breathing  caused  him  an  exquisite  pain.  He  even  found 
himself  wondering  how  much  longer  he  could  endure. 

But  his  work  was  not  yet  finished.  If  he  must  die  he 
would  die  fighting. 

Now,  blending  with  fresh  sounds  of  movement  along 
the  side  walls,  another  sound  added  its  threat  to  the  quiet 
of  the  room.  It  came  from  behind  the  straw  palliasse. 
There  was  heavy  breathing,  almost  gasping.  There  was 
a  distinct  gritting  of  teeth.  But  there  was  also  a  sound 
of  the  effort  which  caused  these  things  in  the  wounded 
man.  There  was  a  sharp  ripping  and  tearing,  the  rustle 
of  straw  and — something  else.  The  movements  were 
hasty,  desperately  hasty.  Movements  which  suggested 
the  defender's  realization  of  the  narrow  limits  of  time 
before  his  powers  would  become  completely  exhausted. 

These  things  lasted  a  matter  of  seconds  only.  Then 
the  threat  broke.  The  quiet  was  shocked  into  desperate 
action.  There  was  the  shout  of  human  voices.  There 
was  the  rush  and  scramble  of  feet.  Then,  in  the  midst  of 
the  tumult,  a  great  tongue  of  flame  leaped  up  from  the 
heart  of  the  straw  palliasse. 

Its  fierce,  ruddy  light  revealed  the  faces  of  two  men 
leaping  to  the  attack  of  the  wounded  defender.  They 
were  within  a  yard  of  their  goal.  But  even  as  they  were 
closing  upon  him  they  reeled  back  before  tbe  new  terror 
W&ose  dread  was  overwneiming  even  in  face  oi  their 
murderous  lust. 


344  THE  FORFEIT 

The  flame  shot  up  toward  the  roof.  Jeff  staggered  to 
his  feet  bearing  in  his  arms  the  blazing  bundle.  Higher 
he  raised  it.  Higher  and  higher,  till  the  devouring  flame 
licked  at  the  parched  thatch  of  grass  roof  above.  It 
caught  in  a  second.  The  flames  swept  up  along  the 
rough  rafters  till  they  reached  the  pitch  of  the  roof.  In  a 
moment  great  billows  of  smoke  were  rolling  out  of  the 
dry  crevices.     * 

Just  for  one  instant,  before  the  fog  closed  down  upon 
the  whole  interior,  Jeff  beheld  the  result  of  his  work.  The 
men  had  fled  toward  the  closed  door,  and,  on  the  ground, 
against  the  far  wall,  he  had  a  glimpse  of  five  bodies  lying 
crumpled  up  where  his  guns  had  laid  them. 

Suddenly  a  great  shout  reached  him  from  without. 

"  Ho,  Jeff  !     Ho,  boy ! " 

It  was  a  deep- throated  roar  which  drowned  the  hiss 
and  crackle  of  the  blazing  straw. 

Jeff's  answer  rang  through  the  burning  structure  with 
all  the  power  of  his  lungs. 

"  The  door  1  Bust  it !  Quick,  Bud  !  Bust  it,  an'  stand 
clear ! " 

For  answer  there  was  a  crash  on  the  woodwork  out- 
side. He  waited  for  no  more.  With  a  wild  rush 
through  the  blinding,  choking  fog  of  smoke  he  charged 
down  the  room.  With  all  his  might  he  flung  the  blaz- 
ing palliasse  from  his  scorched  hands.  He  had  no  idea 
of  the  direction  in  which  it  went.  His  one  desire  now 
was  to  reach  the  door  as  it  gave  under  the  sledge- 
hammer attacks  of  the  men  outside. 

He  heard  a  crash  and  rending  of  woodwork.  He 
could  see  nothing.  He  was  incapable  of  further  effort. 
The  end  had  come  all  too  soon.     He  staggered  blindly, 


AN  EPIC  BATTLE  345 

helplessly.  His  tottering  limbs  gave  under  him.  Suf- 
focation gripped  him  by  the  throat.  He  was  conscious 
of  the  rush  of  a  figure  toward  him.  The  sound  of  his 
name  shrieked  in  a  woman's  voice.  Then  there  were 
shots  fired.  He  heard  them.  And  it  seemed  there  were 
many  of  them,  and  the  sound  was  blurred,  and  vague, 
and  distant  from  his  ears.  He  fell.  He  knew  he  fell. 
For  hours  it  seemed  to  him  he  continued  to  fall  in  an 
abyss  of  blackness  that  was  wholly  horrifying.  It  was 
a  blackness  peopled  with  hideous  invisible  shadows.  So 
impenetrable  was  the  inky  void  that  even  sound  had  no 
place  in  it. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

UNDER  THE  VEIL 

THERE  was  no  moon.  Only  a  starry  sheen  lit  the 
night.  A  wonderful  peace  had  descended  upon  the  hills. 
The  quiet  was  the  hush  of  the  still  prairie  night.  Teem- 
ing maybe  with  restless  life  ;  but  it  was  a  life  invisible, 
and  rarely  audible.  Nevertheless  the  hush  was  merely 
a  veil.  A  veil  which  concealed,  but  had  no  power  to 
sweep  away  the  garnered  harvest  of  violent  human  pas- 
sions. 

The  figure  of  a  man  lay  stretched  upon  his  back  on 
the  bank  of  the  river.  His  head  was  carefully  pillowed. 
A  covering  had  been  spread  over  the  upper  body,  as 
though  to  hide  that  which  lay  beneath,  rather  than 
yield  warmth  and  comfort  on  the  summer  night.  The 
covering  was  a  coat,  a  woman's  coat,  and  the  owner  of 
it  sat  crouching  over  her  charge. 

Nan  stirred.  She  reached  out  and  tucked  the  long 
skirts  of  the  coat  under  the  man's  shoulders  with  that 
mother  instinct  at  once  so  solicitous,  so  tender.  She 
shifted  her  position  which  had  become  cramped  with  her 
long  vigil.  These  were  moments  of  darkness,  literal  and 
mental.  Her  anxiety  and  dread  were  almost  overwhelm- 
ing.    The  waiting  seemed  interminable. 

She  raised  her  eyes  from  her  yearning  regard  of  the 
still,  bandaged  head  with  its  pale  features.  She  sighed 
as  she  turned    them  in  another   direction,    toward   an 


UNDER  THE  VEIL  347 

object  lying  beneath  the  shadow  of  a  great  red  willow 
near  by.  It  was  a  dark  object,  huddled  and,  like  the 
other,  quite  still.  A  curious  sort  of  fascination  held  her 
for  some  moments,  then,  almost  reluctantly,  as  though 
impelled  by  the  trend  of  her  feelings,  her  gaze  wandered 
in  the  direction  whence  was  wafted  toward  her  a  pungent 
reek  of  burning.  It  was  the  dimly  outlined  skeleton  of 
the  station  house,  roofless  and  partly  fallen,  white-ashed 
and  still  faintly  smoking. 

For  long  moments  she  regarded  this  sign  of  the  de- 
struction which  had  been  wrought.  Nor  was  the  sigh 
which  escaped  her  wholly  of  regret.  A  deep  stirring 
was  in  her  heart.  She  was  thinking  of  the  heroic  battle 
which  the  station  home  had  witnessed.  She  was  think- 
ing of  the  desperate  odds  one  man  had  faced  within 
those  four  walls.  She  was  thinking,  too,  of  the  victory 
which  ultimately  had  been  his.  But  the  cost.  She 
shuddered.  And  her  eyes  came  back  to  the  white  up- 
turned features  of  the  man  before  her. 

She  started.  The  man's  eyes  were  open.  Tenderly 
she  raised  a  hand  and  smoothed  the  cold  forehead  with 
its  soft  palm.  Tears  of  emotion  had  gathered  in  her 
eyes  on  the  instant.  But  they  did  not  overflow  down 
her  cheeks. 

The  eyes  closed  again.  The  lids  moved  slowly,  as 
though  reluctant  to  perform  their  office.  The  girl 
literally  held  her  breath.  Would  they  open  again  ? 
Or Her  question  was  answered  almost  on  the  in- 
stant. They  reopened.  This  time  even  more  widely. 
They  were  staring  straight  up  at  the  starlit  sky,  quite 
unmoving.  There  was  no  consciousness  in  them,  and 
barely  life. 


348  THE  FORFEIT 

Nan  waited  for  some  long  apprehensive  moments. 
Her  heart  was  full  of  a  wild,  new-born  hope.  But  fear 
held  her,  too.  At  last  she  moved.  She  withdrew  her- 
self gently  but  swiftly.  Then  she  stood  up,  a  picture  of 
dapper  womanhood  in  the  white  shirt-waist  and  loose 
riding  breeches  which  the  coat  spread  over  the  man's 
body  should  have  held  concealed.  A  moment  later  the 
darkness  swallowed  her  up  as  she  sped  down  the  trail 
which  passed  near  by. 

With  her  going  there  crept  into  the  man's  vacant  eyes 
the  first  real  sign  of  life. 

Five  minutes  later  the  girl  was  back  at  his  side.  But 
she  had  not  returned  alone.  Bud  was  with  her,  and 
together  they  bent  over  the  prostrate  form.  The  girl 
was  kneeling.  She  had  gently  taken  possession  of  one 
of  the  bandaged  hands  lying  inert  at  the  man's  side. 
Tenderly  enough  she  held  it  between  her  own  soft 
palms  and  chafed  it,  while  her  shining  eyes,  yielding  all 
the  secrets  of  her  devoted  heart,  gazed  yearningly  down 
into  his. 

"  Jeff  !  "  she  murmured,  in  a  low,  eager  tone.     "  Jeff  !  " 

There  was  no  response.  The  eyes  were  fixed  and 
staring. 

Bud  had  less  scruples  in  his  anxious  impatience. 

"Say,  that  ain't  no  sort  o'  way  to  wake  him,  Nan,"  he 
whispered  hoarsely.  Then  in  his  deep  gruff  voice  he  dis- 
played his  better  understanding.  "  Say,  Jeff !  You  ken 
hear  me,  boy.  You're  jest  foolin'.  Say,  hark  to  this. 
You  beat  'em.  You  beat  'em  single-handed,  an'  shot  'em 
plumb  down." 

Curiously  enough  there  was  almost  instant  result,  and 
Bud's  satisfaction  became  evident.     The  staring  eyes  re- 


UNDER  THE  VEIL  349 

laxed  their  regard  of  the  starry  heavens.  The  lids  flick- 
ered, then  the  eyes  themselves  turned  in  the  direction 
whence  came  those  sonorous  tones. 

"  You  ken  hear?" 

Bud's  words  came  on  the  instant,  and  were  full  o? 
triumph.  Then  he  turned  to  the  girl  who  had  promptly 
relinquished  Jeffs  hand. 

"  We  ain't  got  a  thing  to  hand  him,  'cep'  it's  water," 
he  said  half-angrily.  "  We  can't  jest  move  him,  not 
nothin',  till  the  boys  git  along  with  the  wagon,  an'  that 
blamed  dope  merchant  gits  around.  What  in  hell  ken 
we  do  ?  " 

"  Wait." 

Nan's  finality  robbed  her  father  of  his  complaint. 

11  Guess  we'll  hev  to.     Say " 

"Yes?" 

"  Do  you  guess  he  ken  talk  if  he  feels  that  way  ?  " 

But  Nan  was  no  longer  giving  him  any  attention. 
All  her  thoughts,  all  her  being  was  for  the  man  before 
them. 

A  faint  tinge  of  color  was  creeping  under  his  skin,  up  to 
the  soft  white  wrapping  fastened  about  his  fire-scorched 
forehead.  Even  in  the  starlight  it  was  plainly  visible  to 
the  girl's  eager  eyes.  There  was  something  else,  too. 
The  look  in  his  eyes  had  completely  changed.  To  Nan 
there  was  something  approaching  the  shadow  of  a  smile. 

She  moved  close  to  his  side  so  that  she  could  reach  out 
and  give  him  support.  Then  she  gave  the  father  at  her 
side  his  orders. 

"  Get  water,  Dad — quick  !  "  she  demanded. 

Bud  demurred. 

"  I  only  got  my  hat,"  he  said  helplessly 


35o  THE  FORFEIT 

"  It'll  do.     But  get  it." 

Bud  moved  away,  with  the  heavy  haste  of  two  hundred 
and  ten  pounds  of  mental  disturbance. 

The  moment  he  had  gone  a  faint  sigh  escaped  the  in- 
jured man.  Nan  held  her  breath.  Would  he — speak? 
She  would  give  worlds  to  hear  the  sound  of  his  voice. 
She  had  believed  him  dying.  Now  a  wild  hope  surged. 
If  he  would — could  speak,  it  seemed  to  her  simple  logic 
that  he  must — live. 

"  Nan ! " 

The  word  was  distinct,  but,  oh,  the  weakness  of  the 
voice.     The  girl  thrilled. 

44  Yes,  Jeff.     I'm  here.     I'm  right  beside  you." 

"Tell  me— things." 

The  girl's  heart  sank.  In  a  flash  she  remembered  all 
there  was  to  tell.  Why  had  his  first  thoughts  on  return- 
ing life  been  of  these — things?  Yet  it  was  like  him— 
so  like  him.  She  drew  a  deep  breath  and  resorted  to 
subterfuge. 

11  It's  as  Dad  shouted  at  you  just  now,  Jeff.  You  beat 
them  all — lone-handed.  But  you  mustn't  talk.  Don't 
worry  about  them.  Guess  they're  not  worth  it.  You've 
been  shot  up,  Jeff,  an'  Dad  an'  I  we've  just  fixed  you  the 
best  we  know,  an'  the  boys  have  gone  right  in  for  a 
wagon,  an'  a  doctor.  The  doc's  got  to  get  in  from  Moose 
Creek,  twenty  miles  away.     That's  what  scares  me." 

The  smile  in  the  man's  eyes  had  deepened. 

44  Don't — get — scared,  Nan.     I'm — not  dying." 

The  girl  thrilled  at  the  assurance  in  the  tired  voice. 
But  the  thrill  passed  as  swiftly  as  it  came.  She  knew 
what  would  follow  when  Jeff  had  gathered  sufficient 
strength. 


UNDER  THE  VEIL  351 

Sure  enough  he  went  on  presently : 

"  I  remember  everything — till — I  dropped,"  he  said 
haltingly.  "  What  happened — after — that  ?  Y'  see — I — 
heard — firing." 

Nan  glanced  helplessly  about  her.  If  only  her  father 
would  return  with  the  water!  It  might  help  her.  She 
felt  that  she  could  not,  could  not  tell  him  the  things  he 
was  demanding  of  her. 

But  again  came  his  demand,  and  in  the  tone  of  it  was 
a  sound  of  peevish  impatience. 

"  What — happened — after — Nan  ?     I  need — to  know." 

"  It  all  came  of  a  rush.     I  can't  just  tell  it  right." 

The  man's  eyes  closed  again.  He  remained  silent  so 
long  that  Nan's  apprehensions  reawakened.  She  even 
forgot  her  panic  at  his  persistence. 

"Jeff!     Jeff!" 

Her  call  to  him  was  almost  a  whisper.  But  the  man 
heard.     His  eyes  opened  at  once. 

"Yes,  Nan?" 

The  girl  laughed  a  little  hysterically. 

"I— I— was " 

"You  thought  I " 


"  Yes,  yes.     But  you  are — better  ?     Sure  ?  " 

The  man's  head  turned  deliberately  toward  her.  There 
was  astonishing  vigor  in  the  movement. 

"Ther's  things  broke  inside  me,  Nan,"  he  said,  in 
a  voice  that  was  growing  stronger.  "  A  rib,  I  guess. 
Maybe  it's  my  shoulder.  The  others — guess  they're 
just  nothing.  Now  tell  me — the  things  I  asked.  How 
did  you  happen  to  git  around?     Start  that  way." 

A  sense  of  relief  helped  the  girl.  He  had  given  her  an 
opportunity  which  she  seized  upon. 


352  THE  FORFEIT 

"  Oh,  Jeff,  it  was  just  thanks  to  Evie.  I  guess  she- 
saved  your  life." 

"  How  ?  " 

The  girl's  enthusiasm  received  a  set-back  in  his  tone. 

"  She  came  right  along  over  to  us,  and  told  us — every- 
thing—the moment  you'd  gone.  We  followed  you  just 
as  hard  as  the  horses  could  lay  foot  to  the  ground.  Dad 
an'  me,  and  six  of  the  boys." 

"  What  did  Evie  do?" 

"  She  came  along — too." 

"  Wher'  is  she  ?  " 

Nan  made  no  answer.  The  question  was  repeated 
more  sharply. 

"Wher' is  she?" 

"  She's  under  that  red  willow — yonder." 

The  girl's  voice  was  low.  Her  words  were  little  more 
than  a  whisper. 

"  Is  she— hurt?" 

"She's— dead." 

At  that  moment  Bud  reappeared  bearing  a  hat  full  of 
clear  river  water. 

Nan  looked  up. 

"How  can  we  give  it  him?"  she  questioned.  Some- 
how the  importance  of  the  water  had  lessened  in  her 
mind. 

Jeff  answered  the  question  himself. 

"  I  don't  need  it,  Bud,"  he  said.  Then  he  added  as  an 
afterthought :  "  Thanks." 

Nan  looked  up  at  her  father  who  stood  doubtfully  by. 

"  Set  it  down,  Daddy.     Then  get  right  along  an'  look 
out  for  the  doc,  an'  the  wagon.     Hustle  'em  along." 
Bud  obeyed  unquestioningly.     He  felt  that  Nan's  un- 


UNDER  THE  VEIL  353 

derstanding  of  the  situation  was  better  than  any  ideas  of 
his.  He  set  the  hat  down  for  the  water  to  percolate 
through  the  soft  felt  at  its  leisure.     Then  he  moved  off. 

The  moment  he  was  out  of  earshot  Jeff's  voice  broke 
the  silence  once  more. 

"Nan?" 

"Yes,  Jeff? " 

"  Wher's  the  red  willow  ?     How  far  away  ?  " 

"A  few  yards." 

"Can  you  help  me  up?"  The  question  came  after  a 
long  considering  pause.  It  came  with  a  certain  eager- 
ness. 

But  Nan  remonstrated  with  all  her  might. 

"  No,  no,  Jeff,"  she  cried,  in  serious  alarm.  "  You 
mustn't.     True  you  mustn't.    It'll  kill  you  to  move  now." 

Her  appeal  was  quite  without  effect. 

"  Then  I'll  have  to  do  it  myself." 

Jeff's  obstinate  decision  was  immovable,  and  in  the  end 
the  girl  was  forced  to  give  way. 

The  sick  man  endured  five  minutes  of  the  intensest 
agony  in  the  effort  required.  Twice  he  nearly  fainted, 
but,  in  the  end,  he  stood  beside  the  somewhat  huddled 
figure  under  the  red  willow,  gasping  under  the  excrucia- 
tion of  internal  pains. 

"  I  can  lie  here,  Nan,"  he  said.  "  Will  you — help 
me?" 

Exerting  all  her  strength  the  girl  helped  him  to  the 
ground.  The  position  he  had  chosen  was  close  to  the 
still  form  of  his  dead  wife.  Once  he  was  safely  resting 
again,  Nan  breathed  her  relief. 

He  looked  up  at  her,  and  something  like  a  smile  was 
in  his  blue  eyes. 


354  THE  FORFEIT 

"Thanks,  Nan.  Say— I'll  need  that  coat  of  yours— 
later.     Will  you  go  along— and  get  it  ?  " 

Nan  moved  away.  She  needed  no  second  bidding. 
Nor  did  she  return  until  the  man's  voice  summoned  her. 

"  Nan  I "  he  called. 

She  came  to  him  at  once  bearing  her  coat  in  her  hands. 
For  a  second,  surprise  widened  her  eyes.  He  was  no 
longer  where  she  had  left  him.  He  had  moved  a  few 
yards  away.  And  she  wondered  how  he  had  been 
capable  of  the  unassisted  effort.  Then  she  glanced 
swiftly  at  the  dead  woman.  The  covering  over  the  body 
had  been  moved.  She  was  certain.  It  had  been  re- 
placed differently  from  the  way  she  had  arranged  it. 
She  offered  no  comment,  but  busied  herself  spreading 
her  coat  over  the  man's  bared  chest,  where  the  rough 
bandages  had  been  fastened  with  her  father's  aid. 

Again  she  seated  herself  on  the  ground  beside  him, 
but  now  his  face  was  turned  from  her.  It  was  toward 
the  still  figure  a  few  yards  away. 

"Tell  me  the  rest  now,  Nan,"  he  said.  "She  did  her 
— best — to — save  me." 

"  More  than  her  best.  Say,  Jeff,  she  loved  you  better 
than  life.     That's  why  she's — there." 

"Tell  me." 

A  new  note  had  crept  into  his  demand.  There  was  a 
hush  in  his  voice  which  gave  his  words  a  curious  tender- 
ness, reverence  even  for  the  woman  they  were  speak- 
ing of. 

"  Guess  it  must  have  been  over  in  a  minute.  Oh,  say, 
it  was  just  the  biggest,  blindest,  most  tremendous  thing, 
It  was  too  awful.  She  was  so  beautiful,  too.  And  then 
the  love  in  it.     I  kind  of  shiver  when  I  think  of  it,     We 


UNDER  THE  VEIL  355 

heard  your  shout,  Jeff.  Evie  came  right  along  with  us. 
She  insisted.  You  see,  I'd  made  her  mad.  I'd  blamed 
her  to  her  face.  I — I'm  sorry  now.  But,  my,  she  was 
brave,  and  how  she  loved  you  !  Well,  when  Bud  heard 
your  shout  I  guess  it  didn't  take  him  more  than  a  minute 
to  beat  in  the  door  they'd  fastened.  Him  an'  the  boys. 
The  rest  took  seconds.  We  stood  clear,  as  you  said, 
guessing  you  meant  a  run  for  it.  The  place  was  ablaze. 
When  the  door  fell  we  saw  it  all.  You  were  near  it.  Be- 
yond you  were  two  men.  Sikkem  was  one.  They  were 
against  the  far  wall,  sideways  from  the  door.  They  had 
guns  in  their  hands.  They  meant  finishing  you  anyway, 
whatever  happened  after.  But  there  was  a  bundle  of 
blazing  stuff  in  front  of  them,  an'  it  seemed  to  worry 
them  quite  a  deal.  You  started  for  the  door.  They  got 
busy  to  use  their  guns  right  away.  Then  something  hap- 
pened. We'd  forgot  Evie.  Guess  we  were  plumb  stag- 
gered. Something  rushed  past  us,  into  that  blazing  hut. 
It  was  Evie,  an'  she  managed  to  get  between  you  and 
them  just  as  you  dropped.  She  fell  where  she  stood.  It 
was  the  shots  they'd  meant  for  you.  Then  Bud  opened 
on  'em,  the  boys  did  too,  and  after  that  we  dragged  you 
and  Evie  out.  Oh,  Jeff, -she  just  didn't  want  to  live  with- 
out you." 

A  great  sob  broke  from  the  girl,  and  it  found  an  echo 
deep  down  in  the  man's  heart.  Nan  buried  her  face  in 
her  hands,  and  the  sound  of  her  sobs  alone  broke  the 
stillness. 

The  man  offered  no  comment.  He  made  no  move- 
ment. He  lay  there  with  his  clear  eyes  gazing  at  the 
silhouette  of  that  still  dark  figure  against  the  mysterious 
sheen  of  night.     His  look  gave  no  key  to  his  thoughts  or 


356  THE  FORFEIT 

emotions.  His  own  physical  sufferings  even  found  no 
expression  in  them.  But  thoughts  were  stirring,  deep 
thoughts  and  emotions  which  were  his  alone,  and  would 
remain  his  alone  until  the  end. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  ROUND-UP 

BUD'S  great  bulk  blocked  the  window  opening  on  to 
the  veranda.  It  was  his  favorite  vantage  point  in  leisure. 
The  after  breakfast  pipe  usually  found  him  there.  His 
evening  pipe,  when  the  sun  was  dipping  toward  the  glis- 
tening, fretted  peaks  of  the  hills,  rarely  found  him  else- 
where. It  was  the  point  from  which,  in  a  way,  he  was 
able  to  view  the  whole  setting  of  the  life  that  was  his. 

The  winter  had  come  and  gone,  vanishing  amidst  the 
howling  gales  of  snow  and  sleet  which  never  fail  to  her- 
ald the  approach  of  the  open  season.  It  is  almost  like 
the  last  furious  onslaught  of  a  despairing  and  defeated 
foe.  Now  the  world  was  abeat  with  swift  pulsations  in 
fibre  and  nerve.  The  wide  valley  of  Rainbow  Hill  was 
stirring  with  the  vigor  of  renewed  life.  Man,  beast,  fowl, 
foliage.  It  was  the  same.  Spring  was  in  the  blood. 
Spring  was  in  the  sap.  And  all  the  world  was  fresh  and 
ready  for  the  call  of  the  coming  year. 

The  spring  round-up  was  in  full  swing  with  all  its 
ceaseless  toil  for  the  ranching  world.  Already  the  pas- 
tures were  crowded  with  stock  brought  in  from  distant 
valleys  and  grazings.  Numberless  calves  answered  their 
mothers'  calls,  and  hung  to  their  sides  in  panic  at  the 
commotion  in  the  midst  of  which  they  found  themselves. 
Already  hundreds  of  them  had  endured  the  terrors  of  the 
searing  irons  which  left  them  indeliby  marked  as  the 


358  THE  FORFEIT 

property  of  the  great  Obar  Ranch,  while  hundreds  more 
were  awaiting  the  same  process. 

And  the  irons  and  forges  were  kept  going  all  day. 
Just  as  was  the  largely  augmented  band  of  cattlemen. 
In  ones  and  twos  these  hardy  ruffians,  many  of  them 
"  toughs "  who  worked  at  no  other  time  of  the  year, 
scoured  every  hill,  and  valley,  and  plain,  however  remote, 
in  the  vast  region.  Theirs  it  was  to  locate  the  strays  to 
whatever  ranch  they  belonged,  and  bring  them  into  home 
pastures.  The  sorting  would  be  made  after  and  the 
distribution.  For  the  whole  of  the  round-up  was  a  com- 
monwealth amongst  the  growers,  and  each  and  every- 
body was  called  upon  to  do  his  adequate  share  in  the 
work. 

Bud  was  glad.  Nor  was  it  without  good  reason.  The 
busy  life  was  the  life  he  lived  for.  And  the  busy  life  had 
been  made  possible  and  complete  by  the  events  of  the 
previous  summer. 

He  was  physically  weary  and  yearning  for  the  supper 
which  was  still  awaiting  Nan's  return.  But  if  he  were 
physically  tired  the  feeling  did  not  extend  beyond  his 
muscles.  His  thoughts  were  busy  as  his  eyes  gazed 
out  upon  the^scenes  of  life  and  movement  which  were  go- 
ing on. 

Just  now  he  was  thinking  of  the  girl,  impatient  at  the 
delay  of  her  return  from  the  pastures,  where  she  was  su- 
perintending the  sorting  for  the  morrow's  branding. 
Thinking  of  her  quickly  carried  him  to  thoughts  of  his 
partner  and  friend,  and  thus,  by  degrees,  his  mind  went 
back  to  the  events  of  the  last  summer  which  had  left  the 
present  operations  free  from  the  threat  which  had  then 
overshadowed  all  their  efforts. 


THE  ROUND-UP  359 

It  had  been  a  bad  time,  a  bad  time  for  them  all.  But 
for  Jeff — ah,  it  had  been  touch  and  go.  How  near,  per- 
haps, it  was  only  now,  after  long  months  had  passed, 
and  a  proper  perspective  had  been  obtained,  that  the  full 
extent  of  his  narrow  escape  could  be  estimated. 

It  had  been  Christmas  before  Jeff  was  completely  out 
of  the  hands  of  the  surgeon  they  had  had  to  obtain  from 
Calthorpe.  For  three  months  of  that  time  he  had  hov- 
ered between  life  and  death.  Nor  had  his  trouble  been 
confined  solely  to  his  physical  hurts.  No,  these  had  been 
sore :  they  had  been  grievous  in  the  extreme.  Three 
times  wounded,  and  his  face,  and  hands,  and  arms  badly 
burned.  But  half  of  his  trouble  had  been  the  mental 
sufferings  he  had  endured  as  a  result  of  his  marriage, 
and  the  final  tragedy  of  Evie's  death. 

Now,  as  Bud  looked  back  on  that  time,  two  things 
stood  out  beyond  all  the  rest.  It  was  the  desperate  cour- 
age— even  madness  he  called  it — of  Jeff,  and  the  super- 
lative devotion  of  Nan. 

He  had  by  no  means  understood  all  that  Jeff  had 
achieved  at  the  moment  of  his  rescue.  It  was  not  till 
long  after,  by  a  process  of  close  questioning,  that  the 
magnitude  of  it  became  plain.  Then  the  marvel  of  it 
dawned  on  him.  The  courage,  the  madness  of  it.  Jeff 
had  rid  the  district  of  the  whole  gang  of  rustlers  single- 
handed.  He  had  shot  five  of  them  to  death,  and  the  last 
two  had  fallen  victims  to  his  own,  Bud's,  gun  after  they 
had  been  wounded  by  Jeff. 

Then  had  followed  that  period  when  Nan  had  stepped 
into  the  picture.  With  pride,  and  a  great  satisfaction, 
he  remembered  her  weeks  and  months  of  devotion  to  the 
injured  man.     Her  sleepless,  tireless  watch.     Her  skill 


36o  THE  FORFEIT 

and  patient  tenderness.  These  things  had  been  colossal. 
To  him  it  had  been  a  vision  of  a  mother's  tender  care 
for  an  ailing  child.  And  the  thought  of  it  now  stirred 
him  to  a  touch  of  bitterness  in  his  feelings  toward  his 
partner  and  friend. 

To  Bud  there  could  only  be  one  possible  end  to  such 
a  wealth  of  devotion  as  his  little  Nan  had  displayed,  but 
it  seemed  that  all  his  ideas  on  the  subject  must  be  wrong. 
To  his  uncomprehending  mind  they  seemed  no  nearer 
to  each  other  than  in  the  days  before  a  mad  passion  had 
seized  upon  Jeff  for  the  woman  he  had  married. 

Bud  was  very  human.  His  patience  had  its  limits,  and 
just  now  they  seemed  to  have  been  reached.  He  admit- 
ted this  to  himself  frankly.  He  told  himself  he  had  "  no 
durned  patience  with  the  bunch."  And  the  bunch  in- 
cluded both  Nan  and  Jeff.  He  felt  that  Nan,  too,  must 
be  to  blame  in  some  way. 

He  had  "no  durned  patience  with  the  bunch." 
Therein  lay  the  key-note  of  his  mixed  feelings.  Here 
everything  was  prospering  but  the  one  thing  above  all 
others  upon  which  he  had  set  his  heart.  He  felt  as 
though  he  must  "  butt  in  "  and  put  matters  right  himself. 
How,  he  did  not  attempt  to  suggest.  But  he  felt  that  if 
he  did  not  do  so,  or  something  or  other  did  not  occur  to 
precipitate  matters,  the  "whole  durned  shootin'  match 
was  li'ble  to  peter." 

This  was  how  he  saw  things.  This  was  how  he  felt 
as  he  awaited  Nan's  return  from  the  pastures. 

She  came  at  last.  She  rode  up  and  passed  her  weary 
horse  to  a  barn-hand  who  promptly  waited  upon  her. 
She  was  covered  with  dust  to  her  waist.  Her  top-boots 
were   white  with  it.     But  her  cheeks  were  as  fresh  as 


THE  ROUND-UP  361 

peach  bloom,  and  her  soft  eyes  shone  with  all  a  ranch- 
man's enthusiasm  at  the  most  exhilarating  period  of  the 
year. 

"  One  hundred  an'  forty-two  young  Obars  to-day,  my 
Daddy,"  she  cried  out  exuberantly.  "Ther'  don't  seem 
any  end  to  last  year's  crop.  Say,  Jeff's  just  crazy  to  death 
about  things." 

"  He  surely  is." 

The  old  man's  reply  was  tinged  by  a  reflection  of  his 
thoughts.     But  his  eyes  lit  nevertheless. 

Nan  regarded  him  seriously. 

"  Most  men  get  a  grouch  when  they're  kept  waiting 
food,"  she  observed  slily.  "  Say,  come  right  in  an'  you'll 
soon  feel  the  world's  a  mighty  good  place  to  live  in." 

Instantly  Bud's  humor  improved. 

"  Guess  you  do  your  best  to  make  it  that  way." 

The  girl  laughed  as  she  led  the  way  in. 

"That  surely  is  a  pretty  nice  talk,  my  Daddy.  Guess 
I'll  take  advantage  of  it,  an'  keep  you  waiting  another 
three  minutes  while  I  get  rid  of  the  dust." 

Her  father  nodded. 

"  Jeff  comin'  up  ?  "  he  inquired. 

The  girl  shook  her  head.  For  a  moment  the  smiling 
eyes  were  hidden  beneath  their  lids. 

"Not  for  supper.  He's  gone  on  to  the  branding 
*  pinch.'  " 

She  was  gone  before  her  father  could  reply,  and  he 
was  left  to  his  own  reflections,  which  were  still  further 
inspired  by  impatience. 

Well  enough  he  knew  the  arduous  nature  of  the  work. 
Had  he  not  been  at  it  himself  since  the  first  streak  of 
dawn?     But  he   felt  that  Jeff   was   going  beyond   the 


362  THE  FORFEIT 

bounds  of  necessity.  Even  beyond  the  bounds  of  rea- 
son. 

However,  he  was  not  given  much  time  to  nurse  any 
imaginary  grievance.  For  Nan  reappeared  after  a  sur- 
prisingly short  interval,  and  the  transformation  she  had 
achieved  was  not  a  little  startling.  Her  dusty  riding  suit 
had  given  place  to  a  pretty  house  frock  of  some  softly 
clinging  material  which  restored  to  her  at  once  the  charm 
of  her  essential  femininity.  The  pretty  brown  of  her  eyes, 
and  the  wavy  softness  of  her  hair  became  indescribably 
charming  in  such  a  setting.  Bud  regarded  her  with 
warm  approval,  and  his  spirits  rose. 

"Jeffs  coming  right  up  after  he's  eaten,"  she  said,  as 
they  took  their  places  at  the  table.  "  He's  getting  the 
food  he  needs  at  the  bunkhouse.  He  guesses  he  hasn't 
time  to  get  supper  right." 

"  Ah." 

The  announcement  gave  Bud  more  pleasure  than  his 
monosyllable  admitted.  His  eyes  once  more  took  in  the 
picture  Nan  made  as  she  sat  behind  the  steaming  coffee 
urn  at  the  head  of  the  table.  And  somehow  the  change 
she  had  made  became  less  startling. 

The  meal  was  the  customary  ranch  supper.  The  table 
was  simply  loaded  with  cold  meats,  and  sweets,  and  cakes 
of  varied  description.  The  fare  was  homely  but  plentiful, 
and,  to  these  simple-living  people,  it  was  all  that  was 
required.  Bud  helped  himself  liberally,  while  Nan  poured 
out  the  fragrant  coffee. 

"  We  ought  to  be  through  in  a  week  now,"  Nan  said, 
passing  a  heavy  china  cup  of  coffee  across  to  her  father. 
"  Jeff  figures  we're  well  up  on  average  in  spite  of  the 
stock  we  lost  last  summer.     It's  pretty  good  to  think — 


THE  ROUND-UP  363 

after  that  time.  Say,  Daddy,  we  owe  Jeff  a  pretty  big 
thing." 

The  old  man  looked  up  with  a  smile. 

"  Guess  the  owin'  ain't  all  with  us,"  he  said,  with  his 
mouth  full. 

Nan  paused  in  the  act  of  sipping  her  coffee.  Her  eyes 
were  full  of  incredulity. 

"  I  don't  understand,  Daddy,"  she  said  frankly. 
"We  owe  more  to  Jeff  than  ever.  Much  more.  He 
came  pretty  near  handing  over  his  poor  life  so  the  Obar 
might  prosper.  He  cleared  out  that  gang  who  would 
have  done  the  Obar  to  death.  A  man  can't  give  more  to 
— his  friends." 

Bud  remained  unconvinced.  He  shook  his  great 
head  and  his  smile  deepened  to  a  twinkle  of  real 
amusement. 

"  That's  so,"  he  said.  "  But  he  didn't  just  give  that 
poor  life  of  his.  I  allow  he  was  ready  to  because — 
because,  wal,  I  guess  he's  built  in  a  right  fashion.  We 
owed  him  for  that  sure.  But  I  'low  he's  been  paid  in  a 
way  it  don't  fall  to  every  feller's  lot  to  git  paid.  You 
paid  that  score  for  us  both,  an'  if  ther's  any  debt  left  over 
to  be  paid,  why  I  guess  I'm  ready  to  pay  it."  He 
chuckled.  "  You  know,  Nan,  woman's  a  ticklish  proposi- 
tion. Ther's  wise  highbrows  guess  they  handed  out  all 
ther'  is  to  say  'bout  women-folk,  an'  I  figger  some  has 
used  elegant  langwidge,  an'  made  pretty  talk.  But 
they  ain't  said  it  all,  an'  ain't  never  likely  to  ef  they  was 
to  yarn  the  whole  way  from  here  to  hell  an'  back.  I'm 
gettin'  older  most  every  day,  an'  maybe  I  oughter  git 
wiser.  But  ef  I  was  to  live  till  the  great  round-up  I  don't 
guess  I'd  ever  learn  the  limits  of  a  woman's  self-sacrifice 


364  THE  FORFEIT 

fer  them  she  takes  the  notion  to  mother.  An'  it  don't 
matter  if  it's  her  own  folk,  or  her  beau,  or  her  man,  or 
some  pestilential  kid  she's  rescued  from  drownin'  in  a 
churn  of  cream  she's  jest  fixed  ready  fer  butter  makin'. 
Wot  Jeff  don't  owe  you  fer  haulin'  him  right  back  into 
the  midst  of  life,  why  I  guess  you  couldn't  find  with  one 
of  them  things  crazy  highbrows  wastes  otherwise  valuable 
lives  in  lookin'  at  bugs  with." 

Nan  laughed,  but  her  denial  came  swiftly. 

"  Jeff  doesn't  owe  me  a  thing,"  she  declared.  "  Ther' 
wasn't  a  soul  else  around  to  nurse  him.  I'd  have  hated 
handing  him  on  to  you."  Then  she  sighed,  but  her  eyes 
shone  with  a  light  which  her  father  well  enough  under- 
stood. "  I — I  needed  to  nurse  him.  If  I  hadn't  been 
able  to,  why,  I  think  I'd  have  just  died.  But  he  don't 
owe  me  a  thing — not  a  thing." 

Bud  took  a  great  gulp  of  coffee  and  set  his  cup  down 
with  a  clatter.  His  deep  gurgling  laugh  was  good  to 
hear. 

"That  ain't  no  argyment,"  he  cried,  his  deep  eyes 
twinkling.  "You've  jest  said  the  things  I  hadn't  savvee 
to  put  into  words  right.  Woman's  jest  a  sort  of  angel 
come  right  down  from  Heaven  on  a  snowflake.  She 
sure  is.  Ther'  ain't  no  reason  to  her.  Set  her  around 
a  sick  bed  with  physic  she  ken  hand  on  to  the  feller  lyin' 
there,  an'  ther'  ain't  no  limit  to  wot  she  can  do.  It's  a 
passion.  You  can't  blame  her.  She's  fixed  that  way. 
She'll  just  nurse  that  feller  in  a  way  that  makes  him 
feel  he  wants  to  start  right  in  trundlin'  a  wooden  hoop, 
or  blowin'  a  painted  trumpet,  hanging  on  to  her  hand, 
same  as  he  did  before  he  quit  actin'  foolish  on  his 
mother's  lap.     It  kind  o'  seems  to  me  a  mortal  wonder 


THE  ROUND-UP  365 

women  don't  set  their  men-folk  actin'  queer  settin'  aside 
a  railroad  track  guessin'  they're  advertisements  fer  a  new 
hair-wash,  or  some  other  fancy  dope.  I  guess  women  is 
the  greatest  proposition  ever  step  out  o'  the  Garden  of 
Eden — someways." 

Nan  laughed  happily. 

"That's  spoiled  it,  Daddy,"  she  cried.  "Why  not 
leave  it  at  the  Garden  of  Eden  ?  " 

Bud  laughingly  shook  his  head. 

"  Why  for  should  I  ?  "  he  retorted.  "  If  they're  angels 
they  ain't  all  halo  an'  wings.  Anyway,  she  did  step  out 
o'  the  Garden.  An'  though  the  committee  ast  her  to 
vacate,  I  allow  it  was  a  mighty  good  thing  fer  the  human 
race,  or  we'd  all  be  eatin'  grass  still,  or  some  other  per- 
fectly ridiculous  cattle  feed.  No  siree  1  She  ain't  all 
halo  an'  wings,  or  us  men  'ud  be  settin'  around  all  the 
time  shoutin'  hymns  doleful  instead  of  enjoyin'  ourselves 
lyin'  awake  at  nights  figgerin'  to  beat  the  other  feller's 
play.  Woman's  jest  woman,  an'  the  differences  in  her  is 
just  what  a  mighty  tough  world  makes  of  her.  Maybe 
she's  foolish.  Maybe  she  ain't.  Anyway,  she's  got  most 
things  agin  her  to  make  her  that  way,  an'  it  seems  to 
me  a  yeller  dawg  don't  have  much  the  worst  of  the 
game.  No.  I  guess  woman's  jest  woman,  an'  us  men 
needs  to  git  right  on  our  knees  and  thank  Providence 
that  is  so." 

Bud  reattacked  his  supper.  There  had  been  im- 
patience as  well  as  amiability  in  his  denial.  For  all 
his  regard  for  his  partner  he  could  not  allow  Nan  her 
absurd  self-effacement  without  protest.  None  knew 
better  than  he  the  extent  of  his  debt  to  Jeff  for  ridding 
the  Obar  of  the  rustlers.     But  Jeff,  he  also  knew,  owed 


366  THE  FORFEIT 

his  life  to  the  devotion,  the  skill,  the  love  of  this  girl 
upon  whom  he  had  no  claim. 

He  remained  silent  now,  lost  in  thoughts  he  dared  not 
impart  to  Nan,  and  the  girl  herself  had  nothing  to  say. 
She,  too,  was  thinking.  But  there  was  no  impatience  in 
her  thoughts. 

She  was  thinking  of  a  moment  which  had  occurred 
down  at  the  pastures.  A  moment  just  before  her  re- 
turn home  to  supper.  To  her  it  had  been  a  moment 
of  compensation  for  everything  which  she  had  ever  suf- 
fered, a  moment  when  the  whole  aspect  of  her  life  had 
been  suddenly  changed  to  a  radiant  vision  of  happiness. 

She  had  been  standing  beside  Jeff  watching  the  work 
of  the  boys  within  the  pastures.  Their  talk  had  all  been 
of  the  business  of  the  day.  There  had  been  no  other 
sign  between  them.  The  old  comradeship  alone  seemed 
to  prevail.  Then  they  had  turned  away,  with  their  talk 
silenced.  They  had  moved  toward  their  horses  which 
were  standing  in  the  shadow  of  a  small  bluff. 

Just  as  they  came  up  Jeff  had  paused,  and  turned,  and 
looked  down  at  her  from  his  superior  height.  She  would 
never  forget  that  look.  It  was  the  look  she  had  seen  in 
his  eyes  when  he  first  gazed  on  the  beauty  of  the  woman 
he  had  married.  Her  heart  was  set  thumping  in  her 
bosom  as  she  thought  of  it  now.  A  deep  flush  surged 
to  her  cheeks,  and  she  kept  her  head  studiously  bent 
over  her  plate. 

Then  had  followed  a  great  impulsive  abandoning  of 
his  usual  reserve.  It  had  been  so  unusual  in  him,  but 
to  Nan  so  natural.  It  seemed  as  though  of  a  sudden 
some  great  barrier  between  them  had  been  thrust  aside 
by  emotions  beyond  the  man's  control.     He  had  flung 


THE  ROUND-UP  367 

out  his  hands  toward  her,  and,  before  she  knew  what 
was  happening,  she  felt  their  passionate  pressure  under 
the  buckskin  gauntlets  she  was  wearing.  Then  had 
come  words,  rapid,  even  disjointed  ;  again  to  her  so 
natural,  yet  strange,  awkward   on  the  lips  of  this  man. 

"Say,  little  Nan,"  he  cried,  "we've  won  out.  Look 
at  'em.  The  pastures.  They're  full.  Fuller  than  we 
ever  guessed  they'd  be  after  last  year.  Things  are  run- 
ning same  as  we've  dreamed.  The  Obar's  going  up — 
up.     And — it's  all  too  late." 

On  the  warm  impulse  of  the  moment  she  had  answered 
him  without  a  second  thought. 

«  Why— why  is  it  too  late?" 

Her  hands  were  still  held  in  his  passionate  grasp.  He 
laughed  a  bitter,  mirthless  laugh. 

"  Why,  because — because  I've  wakened  out  of  a  pas- 
sionate nightmare  to  realize  all  I've — lost." 

She  had  abruptly  withdrawn  her  hands.  She  re- 
membered the  curious  chill  which  suddenly  seemed  to 
pass  through  her  body.  But  she  answered  him  simply, 
earnestly. 

"  You  mustn't  blame  yourself  for  all  you've  lost,  Jeff," 
she  said.  "  Maybe  Evie  loved  you  better  than  you 
knew.  But  she — she,  too,  was  to  blame.  You  must  try 
to  forget." 

Then  had  happened  something  so  startling  that  even 
now  she  could  hardly  credit  it.  Jeff  had  turned  away. 
His  face  was  toward  the  hills  where  the  setting  sun  still 
lit  the  fastnesses  in  which  lay  the  fateful  Spruce  Cross- 
ing.    His  words  came  shortly,  simply. 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  of — Evie,"  he  said.  "  The  memory 
of  her,  of  all  that,  has  gone — forever," 


368  THE  FORFEIT 

Oh,  the  bewilderment  of  that  moment.  Nan  remem- 
bered the  absurdity  of  her  reply  now  with  something 
very  like  panic : 

«  Who — what — were  you  thinking  of  then  ?  " 

41  Who — what?"  The  man's  eyes  lit  with  a  deep,  pas- 
sionate yearning.  "Why,  little  Nan,  the  only  person 
who  is  ever  in  my  thoughts  now — you." 

It  had  come  so  simply  yet  so  full  of  scarcely  restrained 
passion.  Would  she  ever  forget?  Never,  never.  Her 
emotions  had  been  beyond  words.  She  wanted  to  weep. 
She  wanted  to  laugh.  But  more  than  all  she  wanted  to 
flee  before  he  could  utter  another  word.  She  turned  to 
her  horse  without  a  word.  In  a  moment  she  was  in  the 
saddle,  and  had  turned  the  creature  about  to  ride  off. 
But  Jeff's  voice  stayed  her. 

"Say,  little  Nan,  I "  he  broke  off.     "  Oh,  I  guess 

I'll  eat  at  the  bunkhouse.  I  haven't  time  for  supper 
right.  I've  got  to  get  down  to  the  branding  pinch. 
Say,  Nan,"  a  sudden  deep  urging  had  filled  his  voice, 
and  he  came  to  her  horse's  side  and  laid  a  detaining 
hand  upon  its  reins.  "  Can  I  come  along  up — later?  I 
didn't  mean  to  make  you  mad.  True.  I  couldn't  help 
it.     I May  I  come  along — after  I  get  through  ?  " 

It  had  been  utterly  impossible  for  her  to  make  articu- 
late reply.  Her  emotions  were  too  deep,  too  overwhelm- 
ing. She  had  simply  nodded  her  head.  And  in  that 
trifling  movement  she  knew  she  had  conveyed  a  sign  be- 
yond all  misunderstandings 

After  that  the  woman  had  impelled  her.  She  hurriedly 
rode  off,  fearing  she  knew  not  what.  She  knew  she  fled, 
incontinently  fled.  And  her  first  act  on  arrival  home  had 
been  to  rid  herself  of  the  almost  mannish  suit  in  which 


THE  ROUND-UP  369 

she  worked,  so  that  Jeff,  when  he  made  his  appearance, 
might  find  her  the  woman  she  really  was. 


The  voices  of  the  men  on  the  veranda  reached  Nan 
within  the  parlor.  She  did  not  want  to  listen.  She  told 
herself  so.  Besides,  she  had  a  perfect  right  to  remain 
where  she  was.  And,  anyway,  Bud  had  no  secrets  from 
her.  So  she  placed  herself  beyond  the  chance  of  obser- 
vation, and  remained  quiet  lest  she  should  lose  a  word  of 
what  the  voices  were  saying. 

Bud  was  talking.  His  tone  and  words  rumbled  pleas- 
antly upon  the  evening  air.  His  talk  was  of  the  round-up. 
It  was  the  talk  of  a  man  wedded  to  the  life  of  the  western 
plains.  It  was  the  talk  of  a  man  who  is  conscious  of  suc- 
cess achieved  in  spite  of  great  difficulties  and  trials. 
There  was  a  deep  note  of  satisfaction  in  all  he  said. 

Jeff's  voice  sounded  at  intervals.  A  lighter  note.  His 
answers  were  precise,  as  was  his  way.  But  they  lacked 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  other.  It  was  as  though  his 
thoughts  were  traveling  far  afield,  while  his  ears  subcon- 
sciously conveyed  the  other's  talk  to  a  brain  ready  to 
formulate  adequate  reply. 

Apparently,  however,  this  abstraction  impressed  itself 
upon  the  other  at  last,  for  presently  Nan  heard  her  father 
challenge  him  in  his  direct  fashion. 

"  Feelin'  beat,  eh  ?  " 

Nan  pictured  the  steady  gaze  of  her  father's  deep-set 
inquiring  eyes  as  he  put  the  question. 

"No." 

The  reply  came  without  hesitation.  It  was  simple, 
definite.     Again  the  picture  presented  itself  to  Nan.    Jeff, 


37o  THE  FORFEIT 

she  felt,  was  gazing  out  into  the  twilight,  absorbed  in  the 
thoughts  which  held  him.  She  knew  the  attitude.  She 
had  seen  it  so  often  before. 

It  was  Bud's  voice  which  broke  the  silence  that  fol- 
lowed. 

"Guess  the  work's  pretty  tough/'  he  said.  "You 
don't  need  to  fergit  you  bin  a  mighty  sick  man.  If  you 
do,  why,  you'll  be  li'ble  to  find  yourself  on  Nan's  hands 
again." 

"  I  couldn't  wish  for  better." 

The  reply  had  come  on  the  instant.  It  must  have 
warned  even  Bud  that  he  had  found  a  key  to  the  man's 
abstraction. 

"  That's  so — sure." 

The  emphasis  was  unmistakable.  Nan  waited  almost 
breathlessly  in  a  delicious  condition  of  apprehension. 

"  Wher's  Nan  ?  " 

Jeff's  demand  came  sharply. 

"  Som'eres  around  inside." 

"  I  came  up  to  see  her." 

"So?" 

"Yes." 

The  lowing  of  the  cattle  in  the  pastures  was  dying  out 
with  the  deepening  twilight.  The  calves  seemed  to  have 
found  their  mothers  and  all  was  contentment.  Nan  was 
glad  of  the  growing  shadows.  For  her,  obscurity  was 
the  only  thing  just  now. 

Jeff's  voice  again  broke  the  silence.  There  was  some- 
thing utterly  simple  in  the  manner  of  his  words. 

"  I  love  Nan,  Bud,"  he  said.  "  I  want  to  tell  her  so. 
If  she'd  marry  me,  I  don't  guess  there'd  be  a  thing  left 
worth  asking  for.     But  I  don't  guess  she  will.     Why 


THE  ROUND-UP  37 1 

should  she?  I'm  not  worth  her.  Gee  1  But  I  want  her 
bad." 

Nan  buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  Then  she  drew 
back,  back,  far  into  the  dusk  of  the  room.  But  she  could 
not  escape  the  voices. 

Bud's  answer  came  slowly,  deliberately.  There  was  a 
curious  note  of  emotion  in  it. 

"  You  sure  aren't  No  man  is.  Ther'  ain't  a  feller  on 
earth  worthy  my  little  Nan.  But  it's  up  to  her.  Guess 
she's  around  inside  som'eres." 

There  was  the  sound  of  swift  footsteps  on  the  veranda. 
Nan  drew  further  back  into  the  room.  The  far  wall  alone 
stayed  her  progress.  The  door  was  to  her  hand,  but  she 
made  no  attempt  to  avail  herself  of  it.  Oh,  those  de- 
licious moments  of  terror.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  every 
joy  of  life  was  concentrated  in  them.  Her  breath  came 
pantingly.     The  moments  became  insupportable. 

Suddenly  a  figure,  tall,  slim,  filled  the  open  window. 
Swift  as  a  flash  the  mind  of  the  girl  went  back  to  the 
long  months  of  nursing  when  he  had  lain  helpless  in  her 
hands.  He  had  been  hers  then  in  his  helplessness. 
Now,  in  his  full  manhood's  strength,  he  was  coming  to 
her  again.  A  choking  sensation  seized  her,  a  mist  grew 
before  her  eyes0 

"  Nan ! " 

The  tone  of  it.     The  softness.     The  thrilling  passion. 

"  Yes,  Jeff." 

The  answer  was  low,  almost  inaudible. 

Nor  did  the  man  have  to  search  the  darkened  room. 
The  love  which  he  had  for  so  long  thrust  aside  was — 
waiting  for  him0 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

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